_.-RARY 

University  of   California 

IRVINE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 
John  and  Mary  Prescott 


AIUL 


MOHAMMED  ALI   AND 

•* 

HIS   HOUSE 


historical  Romance 


BY 


L.    MUHLBACH 

I 
\ 

V  \c 


AUTHOR  C."  JOSEPH   II.    AND   HIS   COURT,    FREDERICK   THE   GREA1    AND   HIS  COURT, 
BERLIN   AND   SANS-SOUCI,   THE   MERCHANT  OF   BERLIN,    ETC. 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    GERMAN    BY 

CHAPMAN   COLEMAN 


NEW     YORK 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
1899 


r  \ 


IP  c 


COPYRIGHT,  1871,  1893, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY, 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  I. 
YEARS   OF  YOUTH. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— The  Sea 1 

II. — Mother  and  Son 7 

III. — Boyish  Dreams 17 

IV.— Premonition  of  Death 28 

V.— The  Story-teller 37 

VI.— The  Mamelukes 47 

VII. — Dreams  of  the  Future 54 

VIII.— The  Friends 67 

IX.— A  Soul  in  the  Agonies  of  Death 72 

X.— Cousrouf  Pacha 82 

XI.— The  Revolt                                                                     .  92 


BOOK  II. 
PARADISE  AND  HELL. 

I.— The  Flower  of  Praousta 108 

II.— Masa 115 

III.— The  First  Day  of  Creation 123 

IV. — Masa's  Jewelry 135 

V.— The  Deliverance 142 

VI.— The  Flight 152 

VII.— The  Messenger 160 

VIII.— Vanished 167 

IX.- Where  is  she? 177 

X.— The  Departure 187 

XL— The  Triple  Oath 195 

XII.— The  Paradise  under  the  Earth 205 

iii 


IV  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  III. 
THE  MAMELUKES. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— Revenge 211 

II. — All  Things  pass  away 225 

III.— The  Bim  Bashi 232 

IV.— The  Embarkation 244 

V.— The  Camp  at  Aboukir 250 

VI. — The  Massacre 259 

VII.— Restitution 269 

VIII.— The  Viceroy  of  Egypt 278 

IX.— Sitta  Nefysseh 287 

X.— L'Elfi  Bey 297 

XI.— The  Council  of  War 306 

XII.— The  Abduction 313 

BOOK  IV. 
THE   VICEROY. 

I.— Butheita 319 

II.— In  the  Desert 326 

III.— The  Agreement       .                335 

IV.— The  Revolt 353 

V.— A  Strong  Heart 363 

VI.— Persecution 370 

VII.— Money!    Pay! 383 

VIII.— The  Insurrection 392 

IX. — Vengeance  at  Last 400 

X.— The  Return  to  Cairo 408 

XI. — Mohammed  Ali  and  Bardissi 415 

XII.— Against  the  Mamelukes 416 

XIII.— Love  unto  Death 429 

XIV.— Courschid  Pacha 435 

XV.— The  Tent 440 

XVI.— Retribution 448 

XVII.— Conclusion                                                                          .  453 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 
PAGE 

Portrait  of  Mohammed  All Frontispiece 

Cousrouf  Pacha  lifts  Masa's  Veil 147 

The  Attack  of  the  Cavalry 842 

The  Citadel  of  Cairo    .  400 


MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 


BOOK  I. 
YEARS  OF  YOUTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  SEA. 

BEAUTIFUL  is  the  sea  when  it  lies  at  rest  in  its  sublimity,  its 
murmuring  waves  gently  rippling  upon  the  beach,  the  sky 
above  reflected  with  a  soft  light  upon  its  dark  bosom. 

Beautiful  is  the  sea  when  it  bears  upon  its  surface  the  state- 
ly ships,  as  though  they  were  rose-leaves  caressingly  tossed  by 
one  wave  to  another.  Beautiful  is  the  sea  when  the  light 
barks  with  their  red  sails  are  borne  slowly  onward  by  the 
gentle  breeze,  the  careless  fishermen  casting  nets  from  the 
decks  of  their  frail  craft  into  the  deep,  to  draw  thence,  for  the 
nourishment  or  pleasure  of  man,  its  silent  inhabitants.  Beau- 
tiful it  is  when  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  relieved  only  by 
the  light  of  the  stars,  and  the  moon  just  rising  above  the  hori- 
zon, the  pirates  venture  forth  in  their  boats  from  their  lairs  on 
the  coast,  and  glide  stealthily  along  within  the  shadow  of  the 
overhanging  cliffs,  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  rob  the  fisher- 
men of  their  harvest  ;"or,  united  in  larger  numbers,  to  suddenly 
surround  the  stately  merchantman,  clamber  like  cats  up  its 
sides,  murder  the  sleeping,  unsuspecting  crew,  and  put  them- 
selves in  possession  of  the  vessel. 

The  sea  has  witnessed  all  this  for  centuries,  has  silently 
buried  such  secrets  in  its  depths ;  and  yet,  after  such  nights  of 
blood  and  terror,  the  sun  has  again  risen  in  splendor  over  its 
bosom,  ever  presenting  the  same  sublime  spectacle. 

(i) 


2  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

Beautiful  is  the  sea  when  it  lies  at  rest  in  the  azure  light  of 
the  skies — a  very  heaven  on  earth.  But  still  more  beautiful, 
more  glorious,  is  it  when  it  surges  in  its  mighty  wrath — a 
wrath  compared  with  which  the  thunder  of  the  heavens  is  but 
as  the  whispering  of  love,  the  raging  of  a  storm  upon  the  land 
a  mere  murmur.  An  immeasurable  monster,  the  sea  rushes 
with  its  mighty  waves  upon  the  rock-bound  coast,  sends  clouds 
of  spray  high  into  the  air,  telling  in  tones  of  thunder  of  the 
majesty  and  strength  of  the  ocean  that  refuses  to  be  fettered 
or  conciliated. 

You  may  cultivate  the  arts  and  sciences  on  the  land,  you 
may  bring  the  earth  into  subjection,  and  make  it  yield  up  its 
treasures;  the  sea  has  bounded  in  freedom  since  the  begin- 
ning, and  it  will  not  be  conquered,  will  not  be  tamed.  The 
mind  of  man  has  learned  to  command  all  things  on  the  land, 
knows  the  secrets  of  the  depths  of  the  earth,  and  uses  them  ; 
but  man  is  weak  and  powerless  when  he  dares  to  command, 
or  ventures  to  combat,  the  ocean.  At  its  pleasure  it  carries 
ships,  barks,  and  boats ;  but  at  its  pleasure  it  also  destroys  and 
grinds  them  to  dust,  and  you  can  only  fold  your  hands  and  let 
it  act  its  will. 

To-day  it  is  surging  fiercely ;  its  waves  are  black,  and  their 
white  heads  curl  over  upon  the  rock  Bucephalus,  that  stretches 
far  out  into  the  bay  of  Contessa,  pictured  against  the  blue  sky 
in  the  form  of  a  gigantic  black  steed.  Huddled  together  at 
the  foot  of  this  rock,  and  leaning  against  its  surface,  is  a  group 
of  men  and  boys.  They  are  eagerly  gazing  out  upon  the 
water,  and  are  perhaps  speaking  to  each  other;  but  no  one 
hears  what  another  says,  for  the  waves  are  roaring,  and  the 
storm  howling  in  the  rocky  caves,  and  the  waves  and  storm, 
with  their  mighty  chorus,  drown  the  little  human  voices.  The 
pale  faces  of  the  boys  are  expressive  of  terror  and  anxiety,  the 
knit  brows  of  the  men  indicate  that  they  are  expecting  a  dis- 
aster, and  the  trembling  lips  of  the  old  men  forebode  that  the 
next  hour  may  bring  with  it  some  horrible  event. 

They  stand  upon  the  beach,  waiting  anxiously;  but  the 
monster — the  sea— regards  them  not,  and  hurls  one  black  wave 
after  the  other  in  upon  the  cliff  behind  which  they  stand, 
often  drenching  them  with  spray. 


THE   SEA.  3 

But  these  people  pay  no  attention  to  this,  hardly  notice  it ; 
their  whole  soul  is  in  their  eyes,  which  are  gazing  fixedly  out 
upon  the  waters.  Thus  they  stand,  these  poor,  weak  human 
beings,  in  the  presence  of  the  grand,  majestic  ocean,  conscious 
of  their  impotence,  and  waiting  till  the  monster  shall  gracious- 
ly allow  his  anger  to  abate.  For  a  moment  the  storm  holds 
its  breath ;  a  strange,  solemn  stillness  follows  upon  the  roar- 
ing of  the  elements,  and  affords  these  people  an  opportunity 
to  converse,  and  impart  their  terror  and  anxiety  to  each  other. 

"  He  will  not  return,"  said  one  of  them,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  a  sad  look. 

"  He  is  lost  I  "  sighed  another. 

"  And  you  boys  are  to  blame  for  it  ! "  cries  a  third,  turning 
to  the  group  who  stood  near  the  men,  closely  wrapped  in  their 
brown  cloaks,  the  hoods  pulled  down  over  their  eyes. 

"Why  did  you  encourage  him  to  undertake  so  daring  a 
feat  ? "  cried  a  fourth,  pointing  threateningly  toward  the  boys. 

"  It  is  not  our  fault,  Sheik  Emir,"  said  one  of  them,  de- 
fiantly ;  "  he  would  do  so." 

"  Mohammed  always  was  proud  and  haughty,"  exclaimed 
another.  "  We  told  him  that  a  storm  was  coming,  and  that 
we  would  go  home.  But  he  wouldn't,  sheik." 

"That  is  to  say,"  said  the  sheik,  angrily — "that  is  to  say, 
you  have  been  ridiculing  the  poor  boy  again  ? " 

"  He  is  always  so  proud,  and  thinks  himself  something  bet- 
ter than  the  rest  of  us,"  murmured  the  boy,  "though  he  is 
something  worse,  and  may  some  day  be  a  beggar  if — " 

The  storm  now  began  to  rage  more  furiously  ;  the  waves 
towered  higher,  and  threw  their  spray  far  on  to  the  shore  and 
high  upon  the  rock,  as  though  determined  to  make  known  its 
dread  majesty  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  city  of  Cavalla,  which 
stands  with  its  little  houses,  narrow  streets,  and  splendid 
mosque,  on  the  plateau  of  the  rock  of  Bucephalus.  On  the 
summit  of  the  rock  a  woman  is  kneeling,  her  hands  extended 
imploringly  toward  heaven  ;  she  has  allowed  the  white  veil  to 
fall  from  her  face,  and  her  agonized  features  are  exposed  to 
view,  regardless  of  the  law  that  permits  her  to  reveal  her 
countenance  in  the  harem  only.  What  are  the  laws  to  her  ? 
where  is  the  man  to  command  her  to  veil  her  counte- 


4  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

nance  ?  who  says  to  her  :  "  You  belong  to  me,  and  my  heart 
glows  with  jealousy  when  others  behold  you  "  ? 

No  one  is  there  who  could  thus  address  her  ;  for  she  is  a 
widow,  and  calls  nothing  on  earth  her  own,  and  loves  nothing 
on  earth  but  her  son,  her  Mohammed  Ali. 

She  knows  that  he  has  gone  out  to  sea  in  a  frail  skiff  to 
cross  over  to  the  island-rock  Imbro.  The  boys  have  told  her 
of  the  daring  feat  which  her  son  had  undertaken  with  them. 
Filled  with  anxiety,  they  had  come  up  to  the  widow  of  Ibra- 
him to  announce  that  her  son  had  refused  to  return  with  them 
after  they  had  started  in  their  fisher-boats  for  the  island  of 
Imbro.  "  I  have  begun  it  and  I'll  carry  it  out,"  the  proud  boy 
had  replied  to  them.  ''You  have  ridiculed  me,  and  think 
yourselves  better  oarsmen  than  I,  and  now  you  shall  see  that 
I  alone  shall  cross  over  to  Imbro,  while  you  cowardly  return 
when  the  storm  begins  to  rage." 

This  was  his  reply,  and  in  their  anxiety  they  had  repeated 
it  to  his  mother  Khadra,  telling  her,  at  the  same  time,  that 
they  were  innocent  of  her  son's  misdeed,  and  had  begged  him 
in  his  mother's  name  to  return  with  them.  There  she  kneels 
on  the  brow  of  the  rock,  gazing  out  upon  the  water,  imploring 
Allah  to  restore  her  son,  and  conjuring  the  raging  sea  to  bear 
back  her  child  to  the  shore. 

The  mother's  entreaties  are  ardent,  and  strong  is  her  prayer 
to  Allah  and  to  Nature. 

The  ghins,  the  evil  spirits  themselves,  hold  their  breath 
and  flap  their  black  wings  more  gently  when  they  rustle  past 
the  spot  where  a  mother  weeps  and  prays  for  her  son  ! 

But  a  tear  drops  from  the  eyes  of  the  good  spirits  when 
they  meet  such  a  mother,  and  this  tear  is  potent  to  save  her 
child.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  an  agathodcemon  has  flown 
by,  has  seen  the  agonized  mother,  and  has  let  fall  a  tear  upon 
the  waters,  for  at  this  moment  they  become  more  tranquil. 
Perhaps  the  ghins  have  suddenly  been  swept  away  by  the 
whirlwind,  Zeboah,  for  the  storm  is  now  hushed. 

The  storm  is  stilled,  though  from  time  to  time  its  mighty 
breath  is  again  heard  ;  and  then  it  is  again  mute,  and  the 
waves  roll  in  upon  the  shore  less  furiously.  The  sky,  too,  be- 
gins to  grow  clear.  The  sun  looks  out  from  between  the 


THE   SEA.  5 

clouds,  and  throws  a  long  golden  streak  of  light  across  the 
waves,  as  if  to  conciliate  with  its  smile  the  foaming  sea,  and 
smooth  its  furrowed  brow. 

Now,  a  single,  mighty  cry  resounds  from  above,  from  the 
place  where  the  mother  is  kneeling.  It  seems  to  find  its  echo 
here  below  on  the  shore  where  the  men  and  boys  are  standing. 
It  is  a  cry  of  joy,  of  ecstasy.  And  all  hands  are  raised  and 
pointed  across  the  water  to  the  spot  where  the  island-rock,  Im- 
bro,  must  lie.  It  is  not  visible  ;  the  waves  have  surged  over 
it,  as  they  always  do  when  the  storm  rages,  but  they  know 
that  it  must  lie  there.  And  there — a  black  spot  !  It  dances 
on  the  waves,  and  is  lifted  above  the  white  spray.  The  sun 
throws  its  rays  far  out  over  the  waters,  and  over  the  black 
spot.  Again  a  shout  and  a  cry  resound  on  the  shore  and 
above  on  the  plateau. 

Yes,  it  is  the  boat,  dancing  like  a  leaf  up  through  the  foam. 
The  mother  and  the  men  are  waiting  on  the  shore  in  breath- 
less suspense,  as  it  approaches  nearer  and  nearer.  Yes,  it  is 
the  boat  in  which  Mohammed  Ali  went  out  to  sea.* 

Yes,  it  is  he  ;  he  is  returning  ! 

The  men  and  boys  are  now  rejoicing,  and  the  poor  woman 
has  fainted  away.  While  the  mother's  heart  was  in  doubt,  it 
throbbed  violently  in  her  breast ;  now  that  she  knows  her 
child  is  returning,  it  stands  still  with  joy  and  delight. 

The  women,  who  had  vainly  endeavored  to  console  her, 
have  now  come  to  recall  the  mother  to  consciousness,  and  to 
cheer  her  with  joyous  words. 

"  Your  son  returns  !  Allah  has  protected  him  !  The  ghins 
had  no  power  over  him,  his  agathodaemon  watched  over  him  ! 
Allah  be  praised,  Allah  is  great ! " 

The  boat  comes  on  dancing  over  the  water.  The  boy  stands 
alone,  no  one  to  assist  him  in  wielding  his  oar.  He  holds  it 
firmly  grasped  in  his  hands,  using  it  lustily,  and  steering  in  de- 
fiance of  the  waves  toward  the  shore.  And  now  the  men  has- 
ten forward  to  his  assistance.  They  throw  long  ropes  to  him, 
and  hail  their  success  with  a  shout  of  joy,  when  one  of  them 
happily  falls  into  the  boy's  boat.  The  latter  grasps  the  end 
thrown  to  him,  and  holds  it  firmly.  The  men  draw  the  rope 
and  thus  force  the  boat  to  the  shore,  and,  as  it  touches  the 


6  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

rock,  ten  arms  grasp  it  and  hold  it  securely.  With  a  single 
bound  the  boy  leaps  ashore. 

His  face  is  perfectly  calm  ;  his  eyes,  lustrous  as  stars,  show 
no  traces  of  terror  ;  they  are  fixed  on  the  men  with  a  kindly 
glance,  but  they  darken  as  he  turns  to  the  boys. 

"  You  see,  my  boys,"  said  he,  with  a  calm  and  at  the  same 
time  threatening  expression,  "  I  have  won  my  wager  !  Here 
is  the  proof  that  I  was  over  there.  The  knife  that  Ibrahim 
lost  there  yesterday,  I  bring  back  to  him.  Here  it  is  !  " 

He  takes  the  knife  out  of  his  jacket,  thoroughly  drenched 
with  water,  and  throws  it  down  before  the  boys.  "  I  have  won 
my  wager  !  You  men  are  witnesses  of  my  triumph  !  Each 
boy  is  bound  to  pay  me  tribute  from  to-day.  Each  one  must 
furnish  me,  twice  a  week,  with  the  best  peaches  and  dates  from 
his  garden,  and  when  we  go  out  to  the  chase  they  must  obey 
me,  and  acknowledge  me  to  be  their  captain." 

What  triumph  shone  in  his  eyes,  what  an  expression  of 
energy  in  the  bearing  of  a  boy  scarcely  ten  years  old  ! 

''  That  was  it !  "  exclaimed  Toussoun  Aga,  in  a  reproachful 
tone.  "  For  this  reason  my  brother's  son  risked  his  life,  and 
caused  his  mother  and  all  of  us  so  much  anxiety. — Allah  for- 
give you  !  You  are  a  wild,  defiant  boy." 

"  No,  uncle,"  cried  the  boy  ;  "  no,  I  am  not  wild  and  de- 
fiant. They  ridiculed  me,  and  said  I  was  not  as  good  as  they, 
could  do  nothing,  didn't  even  know  how  to  steer  a  boat.  And 
then  we  laid  a  wager,  and  I  won  my  wager  ;  and  they  shall 
pay  the  tribute,  and  acknowledge  me  to  be  their  captain.  I 
call  all  you  men  to  witness  that  I  am  the  captain  of  the  boys 
of  Cavalla." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  amused  and  astonished  at 
the  same  time.  He  speaks  like  a  child,  and  yet  haughtily,  like 
a  monarch.  His  words  are  childish,  and  yet  so  full  of  energy. 
And  many  of  them  thought  they  could  read  in  the  book  of  the 
future  that  a  great  destiny  awaited  the  poor  boy  Mohammed 
Ali.  "  He  is  poor,  to  be  sure,  and  will  have  much  hard  fight- 
ing to  do  with  the  storms  of  life.  May  the  same  success  he 
has  met  with  against  the  storms  of  the  sea  to-day  also  attend 
him  hereafter  against  the  storms  of  life  ! " 

Toussoun  Aga  stretches  out  his  hand  to  take  that  of  his 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  7 

nephew  Mohammed,  to  lead  him  to  the  rock  above,  to  his 
mother,  but  the  boy  quickly  rejects  the  proffered  assistance. 

"  I  can  ascend  the  rock  to  my  mother  alone  ;  I  am  not 
weak  and  terrified,  uncle.  Go  on,  I  will  follow." 

And,  as  he  says  this,  he  crosses  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
The  rest  now  cry  out : 

"  Look  at  his  hands  !    Look,  they  are  bleeding  ! '' 

Toussoun  now  takes  the  boy's  hands  in  his  own,  against  his 
will,  and  opens  them.  They  are  covered  with  blood,  that  oozes 
out  of  the  raw  flesh. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  the  boy  ;  "  nothing  at  all.  I  had  to 
hold  fast  to  the  oar,  the  skin  stuck  to  it,  and  that  made  my 
hands  bleed." 

The  men  gaze  on  him  admiringly,  and  whisper  to  each 
other  :  "He  is  a  hero,  if  he  is  only  ten  years  old."  And  they 
respectfully  step  back,  and  allow  the  boy  to  pass  on  up  the 
rocky  path  that  leads  to  Cavalla. 


CHAPTER  II. 

MOTHER  AND  SON. 

"  HERE  he  is  again,  Sitta  Khadra.  I  bring  your  son,"  said 
Toussoun  Aga,  as  he  entered,  with  the  boy,  the  hut  into  which 
some  kind-hearted  women  had  brought  Mohammed's  mother. 
"  Scold  the  naughty  youth  well,  and  tell  him  what  anxiety  he 
has  caused  us  all." 

Sitta  Khadra,  however,  did  not  scold  him,  but  only  extend- 
ed her  open  arms,  drew  her  son  to  her  bosom  with  a  joyous  cry, 
and  kissed  him  tenderly.  Toussoun  gazed  smilingly  at  the 
two,  and  then  noiselessly  left  the  hut. 

"  It  is  best  to  leave  them  alone,  that  Allah  only  may  hear 
what  the  mother  says  to  her  son,"  he  murmured,  as  he  re- 
turned to  his  own  hut,  where  he  industriously  began  to  apply 
himself  to  making  fishing-nets,  with  which  occupation  he 
earned  his  livelihood. 

Now  that  Mohammed  was  left  alone  with  his  mother,  the 


8  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

boy  who  was  always  so  reserved  and  timid  in  the  presence  of 
others,  knelt  down  before  her,  and  entreated  her  tenderly  not 
to  be  angry  with  him  for  having  made  her  anxious. 

"  But  you  see,  mother,  it  had  to  be  done,"  said  he,  excitedly 
and  imploringly  at  the  same  time,  "  else  they  would  have  ridi- 
culed me  again  as  they  so  often  do." 

"  How  can  they  ridicule  you,  my  beloved  son  ? "  murmured 
Khadra,  regarding  him  tenderly  ;  "  are  you  not  handsomer 
and  stronger  than  all  of  these  pale,  weak  boys  ?  Can  you  not 
steer  a  boat  and  use  a  gun  better  than  they  ?  Are  you  not  a 
man  among  these  boys  ? " 

"  Not  yet,  Mother  Khadra  ;  but  I  shall  become  one,"  said 
he,  rising  from  his  knees  and  lifting  his  head  proudly. 
"Yes,  I  will  become  a  man  among  these  boys,  and  they 
shall  all  be  my  subjects.  We  had  laid  a  wager,  and  that  wager 
had  to  be  won  ;  and  won  for  you,  Mother  Khadra,"  he  added 
with  a  glad  smile. 

u  For  me  ? "  she  asked,  wonderingly.  "  How  can  your  vic- 
tory over  these  boys  be  of  use  to  me,  except  that  I  rejoice  in 
your  greater  strength  ? " 

"  There  is  something  else,  mother,"  he  replied,  joyously. 
"  They  must  pay  a  tribute,  and  the  finest  dates  and  peaches, 
and  the  most  beautiful  flowers  in  their  gardens,  are  mine,  two 
days  in  the  week,  and  for  three  months — this  was  the  wager. 
Now  you  have  fruits  and  flowers.  Do  you  remember  how 
you  complained,  while  we  were  sitting  on  the  rock  looking  at 
the  sea,  that  we  had  only  this  poor  little  hut,  and  no  garden 
and  no  field  ?  I  said  to  myself,  '  I'll  get  them  for  her.'  And, 
mother,  you  shall  have  all  the  rest  besides.  Now  you  have 
fruits  and  flowers,  but,  if  Allah  is  gracious,  you  shall  soon 
have  your  own  garden  and  your  own  house,  handsomer  than 
all  the  houses  of  Cavalla.  I  will  build  my  mother  a  palace  ; 
she  shall  have  slaves  and  servants  ;  all  shall  bow  down  before 
her  as  before  their  mistress  ;  none  shall  rule  over  her  but  Al- 
lah and  the  prophet." 

The  mother  gazed  in  wonder  at  her  son's  excited  counte- 
nance ;  he  seemed  to  her  at  this  moment  not  a  child,  but  a  man, 
a  hero. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  "  he  will  make  what  he 


MOTHER   AND   SON.  9 

says  come  true  :  all  that  the  dream  announced  and  the  proph- 
etess foretold." 

"  What  is  that  you  are  saying,  mother  ? "  asked  he.  "  What 
was  that  dream,  what  did  the  prophetess  foretell  ? " 

She  gently  shook  her  head.  "  It  will  not  be  well  to  tell 
you,  my  son.  Your  heart  is  bold  and  passionate.  And  yet," 
she  continued,  after  a  moment,  "it  may  be  well  that  you 
should  know  it ;  for  to  the  daring  belongs  the  world,  and  Al- 
lah blesses  those  who  have  a  passionate  and  earnest  heart. 
Sit  down  at  my  side,  my  son,  and  you  shall  know  all." 

"Speak,  mother,  speak — I  am  listening.  How  was  the 
dream  ? " 

"  It  was  more  than  twelve  years  ago,"  said  the  mother, 
thoughtfully.  "  At  that  time  I  was  a  young  married  woman, 
and  was  beautiful — so  the  people  said — for  I  was  so  poor  that 
I  could  not  even  buy  myself  a  veil,  and  Allah  and  the  prophets 
forgave  me  for  going  uncovered  before  men.  Then  it  was 
that  your  father,  the  Boulouk  Baschi  of  the  police,  saw  me  ; 
his  eye  rested  lovingly  on  the  poor  girl,  and  he  did  me  the 
honor  to  make  me  his  wife,  and  he  covered  my  face  with  a 
veil,  that  no  other  man  might  henceforth  see  me.  It  was  a 
great  honor  for  me  that  Boulouk  Baschi  considered  me  worthy 
to  be  his  wife,  even  his  only  wife.  For  he  made  no  use  of  the 
privilege  accorded  by  the  prophet  and  our  religion,  which  al- 
lows a  man  to  conduct  several  women  to  his  harem.  He  said 
the  one  woman  of  his  heart  should  be  the  one  woman  of  his 
house.  It  was  a  happy  year,  my  son,  this  first  year  of  our 
married  life.  We  were  not  rich,  we  had  nothing  but  the  sal- 
ary which  your  father  received  from  the  tschorbadji,  but  it 
was  sufficient ;  when  we  are  happy  we  do  not  need  much. 
You  must  know,  my  son,  that  my  heart  is  not  fixed  on  splen- 
dor and  show  ;  it  was  not  my  own  thoughts  that  conjured  up 
these  proud  dreams.  We  lived,  as  I  have  said,  in  quiet  bliss, 
hoping  that  our  happiness  might  soon  be  increased  by  the  birth 
of  a  child,  by  you,  my  son.  One  circumstance  only  dimmed 
our  happiness  :  this  was  your  father's  service.  A  bad  service, 
my  son  !  Bands  of  robbers  infested  our  peninsula,  and  it  was  a 
dangerous  calling  to  lie  in  wait  for  them,  and  follow  them  up 
into  the  mountains.  I  always  trembled  when  your  father 
2 


10  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

went  out  with  his  men  in  pursuit  of  robbers,  and  I  had  good 
cause  to  tremble.  Allah  had  implanted  in  my  soul  a  forebod- 
ing of  coming  evil.  One  day,  while  engaged  in  preparing  our 
simple  repast,  I  heard  heavy  footsteps,  and  a  subdued  murmur 
of  voices  approaching.  I  knew  that  some  misfortune  was  im- 
pending, and  there  was.  Your  father  was  brought  in  a  bleed- 
ing corpse  !  He  had  followed  the  robbers  far  up  into  the 
mountains  alone,  his  men  refusing  to  accompany  him.  The 
robbers  had  surrounded  and  slain  him,  disfiguring  his  dear 
face  so  that  I  could  scarcely  recognize  it." 

"  What  was  done  with  the  murderers  ? "  asked  Mohammed, 
fiercely.  "  Were  they  punished,  executed  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  There  was  no  one  there  to  witness 
the  deed,  and,  when  your  father's  successor  was  appointed, 
they  had  probably  long  since  crossed  the  sea.  Their  names 
were  not  even  known,  and  your  father's  blood  is  unavenged 
to  this  day." 

"  Mother  ! "  exclaimed  the  boy,  fiercely,  "  I  will  avenge  my 
father  !  I  swear  it ! " 

"Poor  boy!  You  avenge  him?  You  do  not  even  know 
who  his  murderers  were,"  said  she,  gently. 

"  I  will  have  vengeance  on  the  whole  world  ! "  exclaimed 
the  boy.  "  All  my  enemies  shall  suffer  for  his  death  !  What 
did  you  do,  mother,  when  you  beheld  my  father's  body  ?  You 
laid  your  hand  on  his  eyes,  and  swore  to  avenge  him,  did  you 
not  ? " 

"  No,  my  son.  I  sank  down  by  your  father's  body,  kissed 
his  hand,  and  took  leave  of  him  whom  alone  I  had  loved.  But 
yet,  I  did  register  one  oath  !  I  swore  that  henceforth  I  would 
love  nothing  but  the  child  I  bore  under  my  heart — his  child. 
I  also  swore  that  the  veil  with  which  he  had  covered  my  face 
should  never  be  lifted  by  another  man.  Many  a  one  longed 
to  take  Ibrahim  Aga's  widow  to  wife,  for,  talkative  as  love  and 
happiness  always  are,  he  had  told  them  of  his  love  and  his 
happiness,  and  they  thought  that  they,  too,  might  obtain  this 
through,  me.  But  I  rejected  them,  though  I  was  poor  and 
possessed  nothing  but  this  hut  to  shelter  myself  and  my  child, 
as  yet  unborn.  For  the  sake  of  this  child,  I  rallied  my  ener- 
gies and  dried  my  eyes.  A  mother  who  has  not  yet  given 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  H 

birth  should  not  weep  ;  her  tears  would  fall  on  the  child  and 
make  its  heart  sick  and  its  eyes  dim,  and  I  wished  my  child  to 
see  the  world  with  his  father's  eyes,  to  begin  life  with  his 
father's  heart.  Therefore  I  implored  Allah  to  give  strength 
and  joyousness  to  the  life  that  was  to  be  devoted  to  my  child. 
One  night  I  had  a  strange,  wondrous,  and  beautiful  dream. 
On  a  sparkling  throne  I  saw  a  man  in  glittering  armor,  his 
sword  high  uplifted,  his  eyes  naming,  his  countenance  lus- 
trous with  beauty.  I  knew  this  man,  although  I  had  never 
seen  him.  His  countenance  was  that  of  my  Ibrahim,  and  yet 
it  was  another — it  was  his  son  !  In  my  dream  I  was  distinctly 
conscious  that  it  was  my  son  I  beheld  before  me.  He  looked 
not  at  me,  but  out  upon  the  world  with  an  angry  eye.  At  his 
feet  thousands  lay  extended  upon  the  ground  in  deep  rever- 
ence. Far  behind  him  I  saw  a  strange  landscape,  such  as  I 
had  never  before  beheld.  On  a  wide,  yellow  waste  of  sand, 
stood  towering  proud  and  mighty  structures  of  wondrous  form, 
their  summits  glittering  in  the  sunshine.  And,  strange  to  say, 
afar  off,  on  a  magnificent  palace,  I  saw  the  same  man  I  had 
before  beheld,  his  sword  again  uplifted,  and  above  his  head 
shone  the  crescent  with  the  three  stars.  All  at  once  the  man 
became  transformed  into  a  child  that  shone  like  an  angel,  and 
this  angel  stretched  out  its  arms  and  flew  toward  me.  In  my 
dream  I  extended  my  arms  toward  this  vision,  and  cried,  '  My 
son — my  son  ! '  This  cry  awakened  me.  On  the  following  day 
you  were  born.  When  I  saw  and  greeted  you  with  Allah's  bless- 
ing. I  was  startled  to  find  the  child  I  held  in  my  arms  the  same 
as  the  angel  that  had  flown  to  me  in  my  dream  !  Oftentimes 
since  I  have  thought  of  this  dream,  and  endeavored  to  inter- 
pret it,  for  the  agathodaemon  that  watches  over  men,  and  pro- 
tects them  from  the  ghins  and  their  evil  pinions,  sometimes 
sends  dreams  to  the  unhappy  to  announce  to  them  the  future. 
I  thought  my  agathodeemon  had  sent  me  this  dream. 

"  One  day  some  gypsies  came  to  Ca valla  on  a  ship  that 
landed  here  to  procure  provisions.  They  remained  here  sev- 
eral days,  and  made  a  business  of  fortune-telling.  I  went  to 
an  old  woman,  said  to  be  the  greatest  prophetess,  held  out  my 
hand,  and  demanded  that  she  should  announce  the  future  of 
myself  and  my  son.  The  old  woman  gazed  at  me  with 


12  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

a  strange  look,  and  said :  '  You  wish  your  dream  inter- 
preted ? ' 

"  This  startled  me,  for  I  had  rarely  spoken  of  my  dream, 
and  the  old  woman  could  not  have  heard  of  it.  She  had  been 
in  Cavalla  but  two  days,  and  who  should  have  told  her  of  the 
poor,  obscure  woman.  Sitta  Khadra  ?  But  this  question  star- 
tled me  to  the  very  soul,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  this  woman 
must  tell  me  the  truth.  I  motioned  to  her  to  tell  me  my 
dream.  She  related  the  entire  dream  with  every  circumstance, 
and  interpreted  it." 

"  How  did  she  interpret  it  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  in  breath- 
less suspense. 

"  She  said  to  me  :  '  Your  son  will  one  day  become  a  prince 
and  a  hero  ;  he  will  see  a  whole  nation  bowed  down  at  his 
feet ;  he  will  wield  the  sword  over  this  people,  and  bring  them 
under  his  yoke.  Your  son  shall  be  a  ruler  ;  palaces  shall  be 
his,  and  among  the  mighty  he  shall  be  the  mightiest.  Destiny 
announced  this  to  you  through  the  man  transformed  into  the 
angel  that  flew  to  you,  and  who  is  your  son.  All  hail,  Khadra, 
for  you  shall  be  the  mother  of  the  mightiest,  of  the  master  of 
the  earth  ! ' " 

"  Is  this  true  ?  Am  I  to  be  a  prince,  a  mighty  ruler  ? " 
asked  Mohammed,  in  ecstasy.  "I  am  to  behold  nations  at 
my  feet  ?  Repeat  it  again,  what  did  she  say  ? " 

"Yes,  she  said  this  :  'A  prince  shall  he  become,  nations 
shall  he  behold  at  his  feet,  and  the  whole  world  shall  talk  of 
and  praise  him.' " 

"  I  swear  to  you,  mother,  that  she  shall  have  told  the  truth  ! 
I  swear  to  you,  by  the  spirit  of  my  father,  by  Allah  and  by  the 
prophets,  I  will  make  the  old  woman's  prophecy  the  truth  !  I 
shall  be  a  prince,  a  great  ruler,  and  whole  nations  shall  bow 
down  in  the  dust  before  me.  I  thank  you,  mother,  for  having 
foretold  my  future,  and  I  only  implore  that  Allah  may  gra- 
ciously permit  my  mother  to  live  to  see  the  fulfilment  of  the 
prophecy.  Now  I  know  what  I  have  to  do,  and,  when  the 
boys  ask  me  again  what  is  to  become  of  poor  Mohammed,  I 
shall  tell  them  :  '  I  will  make  of  him  a  prince,  a  hero,  a  king.' 
Yes,  I  will  speak  thus  to  them,  and  thus  it  shall  be  !  And 
with  them  I  shall  begin  !  These  cowardly  boys  shall  be  my 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  13 

subjects,  and  woe  to  them  if  they  do  not  pay  the  tribute  !  O 
mother,  beautiful  days  are  in  store  for  you  !  " 

"  My  dear,  foolish  boy,"  said  the  mother,  regarding  him 
tenderly,  "  you  dream  of  a  brilliant  future,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  realize  this  dream.  We  are  poor,  and  Fortune  seldom  re- 
sides with  the  poor." 

"  I  will  make  us  rich  ! "  exclaimed  the  boy  ;  "  yes,  I  will 
make  us  rich,  though  as  yet  I  know  not  how  I  am  to  do  it. 
But  do  you  know  who  shall  assist  me  in  doing  so  ? " 

"  I  think  I  do,"  replied  the  mother,  smiling,  "  you  will  ask 
your  good  friend  Mr.  Lion  ? " 

Mohammed  nodded  assent.  "  Rightly  guessed,  mother  ! 
To  him  I  shall  go  and  ask  him  how  to  begin  to  become  a  rich 
man.  Let  me  do  so  at  once,  my  heart  is  burning  to  ask  this 
question." 

He  seized  his  red  cap,  pulled  it  over  his  brown  hair,  took 
leave  of  his  mother,  hurried  into  the  street,  and  out  of  the 
poverty-stricken  little  suburb,  toward  the  main  thoroughfare, 
where  the  wealthy  lived.  He  walked  on,  reflecting  profoundly 
over  what  his  mother  had  related,  and  without  noticing  the 
boys  who  were  coming  toward  him.  When  they  perceived 
him,  they  stepped  aside  as  if  ashamed  to  meet  the  boy  who 
had  excelled  and  conquered  them,  slipped  into  the  next  house, 
closed  the  door  which  extended  only  half-way  up  the  door- 
way behind  them,  and  looked  out  over  it. 

"  Only  look  at  him  ! "  they  cried,  derisively.  "  He  is  good 
for  nothing.  He  can  do  nothing.  What  is  he  to  become  but 
a  beggar  ?  Who  will  pity  him  when  his  uncle  is  dead,  and  his 
mother  sick  and  bedridden  ?  Then  he  will  have  to  serve  us, 
and  pay  us  tribute." 

They  continued  to  laugh  at  him,  but  he  walked  on  quietly. 
Their  malicious  words  had  not  escaped  him,  but  he  took  no 
notice  of  them.  Proudly  and  composedly  he  walked  on,  mur- 
muring to  himself  in  a  low  voice  :  "  They  shall  pay  for  this 
some  day  !  They  too  are  my  enemies,  on  whom  I  intend  to 
be  avenged,  fearfully  avenged  ! " 

These  thoughts  were  still  expressed  in  his  features  as  he 
entered  the  great  store  of  the  merchant  Lion.  Hastily  he 
threaded  his  \vay  down  the  narrow  path  that  lay  between  the 


14:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

bales  and  barrels,  toward  the  light  that  shone  at  the  end. 
There  stood  the  merchant's  office.  Now  he  hears  a  kindly 
voice  welcoming  him. 

"  Behold  the  hero  of  Imbro,  the  daring  conqueror  of  the 
sea  !  Welcome  my  hero,  welcome  ! " 

He  stood  still,  listening  to  these  tones,  a  happy  smile  over- 
spreading his  countenance.  How  beautiful  it  is  to  be  thus 
welcomed  !  To  be  sure,  as  yet  it  is  only  a  friendly  greeting, 
and  half  in  mockery,  but  this  greeting  shall  one  day  resound 
from  the  throats  of  whole  nations,  and  not  in  mockery.  Shall 
they  hail  him,  "  Welcome,  thou  hero  ! "  This  he  swears  shall 
be,  as  he  steps  up  to  Mr.  Lion,  who  extends  both  hands  to  him 
over  his  counter,  and  regards  him  tenderly. 

"  Here  again,  my  Mohammed  !  They  have  been  speaking 
of  you  all  day,  and  three  men  have  already  been  here  to  tell 
of  your  heroic  deed.  Let  me  see  your  hands.  Yes,  they  are 
torn  and  bleeding.  Yes,  my  boy,  I  have  rejoiced  with  you, 
and  am  proud  with  you  for  having  put  those  boys  to 
shame." 

u  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  he,  earnestly  ;  "  yet  it  is  not  enough 
to  conquer  boys  ;  one  must  also  conquer  men  and  nations  ! " 

Mr.  Lion  regarded  him  with  wonder.  "What  is  this  you 
are  saying  ?  what  are  you  busying  your  brain  with  now  ?  " 

"  With  many  things,  sir  ;  I  desire  you  to  help  me  provide 
for  my  future." 

"  I  am  delighted,  Mohammed,"  said  the  merchant,  regard- 
ing him  with  a  friendly  smile,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you 
thoughtful  of  your  future.  I  have  often  scolded  your  mother 
about  you  ;  you  are  tall  and  sensible  for  your  age,  are  almost 
a  young  man,  and  it  would  become  you  to  be  taking  care  of 
yourself.  But  both  your  mother  and  your  Uncle  Toussoun  are 
spoiling  you  in  their  anxiety  to  strew  your  pathway  with  rose- 
leaves,  and  guard  you  from  every  hardship." 

"  They  would,"  said  the  boy,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  if 
I  allowed  them,  but  I  will  not !  I  will  bare  my  face  to  the 
storm,  and  walk  on  thorns  instead  of  rose-leaves,  in  order  that 
my  feet  may  become  hardened.  Therefore,  tell  me,  dear  sir, 
what  I  am  to  do  to  provide  for  my  future." 

"That  is  hard  to  tell,"  replied  Lion,  with  a  sigh.     "For 


MOTHER  AND   SON.  15 

every  thing  a  certain  something  is  necessary,  which  you,  un- 
fortunately, do  not  possess." 

''  And  what  is  this  something  ? "  asked  the  boy,  hastily. 

"  Money,"  replied  the  merchant.  "  It  is  not  enough  to  pray 
to  Allah,  and  to  receive  into  one's  soul  the  precepts  of  the 
Koran  ;  one  must  also  use  one's  hands  industriously,  and  learn 
the  precepts  of  worldly  wisdom,  and  the  very  first  of  these  is, 
'  Have  money,  and  you  can  obtain  all  else.' " 

"  I  will  have  money,  that  I  may  obtain  all  else  ! "  exclaimed 
Mohammed  ;  "  only  tell  me  how  to  procure  it." 

''That  is  just  where  the  difficulty  lies,  you  foolish  boy," 
said  the  merchant,  stroking  his  brown  hair  gently.  "  Those 
who  rob  and  plunder  make  it  much  easier  for  themselves  in 
the  world,  and  I  have  known  many  a  one  to  begin  his  career 
as  a  robber  who,  subsequently,  ruled  over  men  as  a  grand 
pacha.  Yet  I  am  confident  that  it  is  not  in  this  manner  you 
wish  to  acquire  riches,  but  as  an  honest  man." 

"  Yes,  as  an  honest  man  !  I  desire  to  gain  honor,  magnifi- 
cence, and  wealth,  by  the  power  of  my  will  and  my  intellect." 

"  Honor,  magnificence,  and  wealth  ? "  repeated  Mr.  Lion. 
"  These  are  grand  words,  my  boy  !  It  will  be  very  difficult  to 
accomplish  so  much,  and  I  can  render  you  no  assistance  in  do- 
ing so,  yet  I  will  take  you  into  my  business  and  try  to  make  a 
merchant  of  you,  if  you  wish  it." 

"Merchant!"  repeated  the  boy,  thoughtfully.  "I  have 
nothing  that  I  could  sell." 

"  Yet  you  can  sell  yourself.  Do  not  look  at  me  so  angrily  ! 
I  do  not  mean  that  you  should  sell  yourself  as  a  slave,  but  do 
business  with  your  head,  your  work,  and  your  good-will. 
Help  me  to  wait  on  my  customers,  to  sell  goods,  and  to  praise 
them  with  pleasing  manners,  and  I  will  furnish  you  with  food 
and  clothing,  and  pay  you  monthly  wages  besides,  which  you 
can  give  to  your  mother." 

"  I  should  have  to  stand  behind  the  counter,  and  play  the 
amiable  to  people,  as  I  have  seen  you  do  ? " 

"Yes,  my  son,  that  you  would  have  to  do." 

"  I  should  have  to  listen  quietly  to  the  gossips,  spread  out 
before  them  the  carpets,  turbans,  and  Persian  shawls  ;  and,  as 
I  have  seen  you  do,  cover  the  spots  with  my  hands  and  praise 


1C  MOHAMMED   A  LI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

the    goods,  and    then    hear  them  scold,   and    bargain,  and 
cheapen  ? " 

"  Keally,  you  will  make  a  good  merchant ;  I  see  you  have 
learned  a  great  deal  already." 

"  I  should,  when  the  women  stroll  in  and  seat  themselves 
at  the  counter,  have  to  wait  on  them  humbly  with  coffee,  and 
beg  them  to  do  us  the  honor  ?  Should  have  to  hear  them  talk 
about  their  domestic  affairs,  their  cats,  and  their  dogs,  and  ap- 
pear to  be  delighted  with  the  sweetness  of  their  voices,  and  the 
lustre  of  their  eyes  ? " 

"  By  your  prophet,  you  are  a  finished  merchant,  and  will 
make  a  splendid  salesman  1 " 

"  No,  I  shall  not ! "  cried  the  boy.  "  No,  sir  !  I  love  you 
with  my  whole  soul,  and  have  often  observed  and  admired 
how  you  understand  your  art,  but,  forgive  me  for  saying  so, 
I  cannot  become  a  merchant !  Propose  something  that  I 
can  do." 

''  Very  well  !  I  will  propose  something  else  ;  become  a 
writer,  learn  the  art,  understood  by  so  few,  of  putting  words 
spoken  by  others  on  paper  with  signs.  I  should  be  well 
pleased,  as  I  need  a  writer.  The  one  I  have  has  grown  old 
and  lazy,  and,  though  I  can  speak  your  language,  I  cannot 
write  it.  Yes,  learn  to  write,  and  then  you  will  be  provided 
for  permanently,  for  writers  are  rare,  and — " 

"  I  will  not  learn  it  !  "  said  the  boy,  interrupting  him  ;  "  I 
will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  pen.  I  will  write  my  name 
with  the  sword  on  the  faces  of  my  enemies  ! " 

"That  would  be  a  beautiful  handwriting!'  observed  Mr. 
Lion,  laughing.  "  It  will,  however,  be  some  time  before  you 
can  do  that,  and,  in  the  mean  while,  I  would  advise  you  to  go 
to  old  Scha-er  Mehsed,  the  story-teller.  He  knows  wonderful 
tales,  and  the  whole  history  of  the  great  Prophet  Mohammed. 
You  know,  in  the  evenings,  crowds  assemble  around  him,  and 
it  fairly  rains  pennies.  But  Scha-er  Mehsed  has  grown  old, 
and  hard  to  understand  because  he  has  lost  his  teeth.  Go  and 
listen  to  him,  then  take  your  seat  on  the  stone  and  tell  stories 
of  the  olden  time  yourself." 

"  No,  Mr.  Lion,  that  does  not  suit  me  either.  I  will  first 
do  great  deeds  before  I  tell  of  them.  Not  until  I  have  grown 


BOYISH   DREAMS.  17 

old  shall  the  men  and  women  assemble  around  me  ;  then  they 
shall  hear  of  my  deeds.  But  to  tell  of  the  deeds  of  others  only, 
would  give  me  no  pleasure.  I  see  nothing  is  left  me  but  to 
become  a  soldier.  Yes,  a  soldier. " 

"  I,  too,  believe  that  would  be  the  best  thing  for  you,"  said 
Mr.  Lion,  with  a  kindly  nod  of  the  head.  "But  then  you 
must  wait  until  you  are  larger  and  stronger,  for  they  do  not 
make  soldiers  of  boys,  and  you  are  still  a  boy.  At  ten  years 
of  age  one  is  not  yet  a  man,  my  little  hero.  But  at  fifteen  you 
will  be  a  youth,  and  then  you  will  be  accepted  as  a  soldier. 
And  I  prophesy  for  you  a  great  and  brilliant  career  as  such. 
Until  then,  however,  I  promise  to  help  your  mother  to  take 
care  of  you,  and,  if  I  can  serve  you  in  any  way,  come  to  me, 
for  you  know  I  love  you,  and  will  gladly  do  what  I  can  for 
you." 

''  Until  then  I  will  be  the  general  of  the  boys  of  Cavalla, 
and  they  shall  all  bow  down  to  me,  and  pay  me  tribute." 


CHAPTER  III. 

BOYISH  DREAMS. 

SINCE  that  day  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in  Moham- 
med Ali.  He  was  graver  and  more  silent,  and  participated 
less  in  the  games  of  the  boys.  He  no  longer  laughed  and 
jested  as  he  had  formerly  done,  but  he  was  all  the  more  busily 
occupied  with  his  gun,  inherited  from  his  father,  exercising 
himself  in  shooting,  and  almost  always  hitting  his  mark.  He 
also  strengthened  his  limbs  by  fencing  with  his  old  uncle,  who 
had  formerly  been  a  soldier,  or  by  throwing  himself  into  the 
sea,  to  struggle  with  the  waves  and  allow  himself  to  be  buf- 
feted about  by  them  for  hours.  The  boy  prepared  himself  to 
become  a  man,  and  he  did  so  with  his  whole  soul,  and  with  the 
whole  strength  of  his  will. 

He  often  wandered  in  solitude  among  the  rocks  on  the 
heights,  or  lingered  on  the  beach  below  ;  and  when  he  would 
return  to. his  mother,  on  such  occasions,  she  could  see  reflected 


18  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

in  his  countenance  the  great  thoughts  that  agitated  her  boy's 
soul.  He  seemed  to  her  to  grow  visibly  taller  each  day  ;  that 
the  boy  was  transforming  himself  into  a  man  with  wonderful 
rapidity.  She  knew  that  this  boy  would  become  a  hero  ;  she 
had  seen  it  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes  while  relating  her 
dream,  and  she  comprehended  the  longing  which  filled  his 
soul,  for  her  soul  was  strong  and  aspiring  like  his,  and  Moham- 
med had  inherited  his  ambition  and  strong  will  from  his 
mother  Khadra. 

"  He  thinks  as  I  should  think  were  I  a  man,"  said  Khadra 
to  herself,  as  she  sat  on  the  threshold  of  her  door  regarding 
her  son.  "Neither  should  I  be  contented  with  our  present 
miserable  existence  if  I  were  a  man.  I,  too,  should  desire  to 
go  out  and  struggle  with  the  world.  Alas  !  but  I  am  only  a 
poor  widow,  living  a  miserable,  solitary  life,  awaiting  the  day 
when  death  shall  call  me,  and  unite  me  in  Paradise  with  Ibra- 
him Aga,  my  master.  But  let  the  young  eagle  brood  and 
think  until  his  wings  are  grown,  and  then  let  him  fly  into  the 
world  out  of  this  miserable,  rocky  nest.  May  Allah  bless  his 
purpose,  and  Mohammed  the  prophet  protect  him  !  Allah  il 
Allah  ! " 

While  the  mother  was  praying,  and  looking  out  wistfully 
into  the  twilight,  Mohammed  was  sitting  in  his  rocky  cave 
down  on  the  shore. 

This  was  as  yet  his  only  possession,  his  palace  !  No  one 
knew  of  this  cave,  discovered  by  the  boy  while  wandering  on 
the  shore.  He  had  crept  into  a  narrow  opening  in  the  rock 
which  he  had  observed  among  the  cliffs,  that  was  hardly  large 
enough  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  his  slender  body.  He  crept 
on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  noticed  with  delight  that  this 
opening  widened  into  a  cave.  He  went  on,  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  darkness,  when  suddenly  he  saw  a  bright  light  over- 
head, and  discovered  that  he  was  in  a  wide  cave,  lighted  from 
above  by  a  round  opening  as  by  a  window. 

Through  this  opening  he  could  view  the  sea,  and  the  sky 
above. 

This  cave  was  known  to  no  one  else,  and  Mohammed  care- 
fully preserved  the  secret  of  its  existence. 

This  cave  was  his  palace  !    Here  he  could  dream  of  the 


BOYISH  DREAMS.  19 

future  ;  here,  in  impenetrable  solitude,  he  could  dwell  with  his 
thoughts  ;  from  here  he  could  look  up  and  implore  counsel 
from  the  heavens  above,  or  look  down  at  the  foaming  sea  be- 
neath, and  refresh  his  soul  with  its  majesty. 

By  degrees  he  had  made  this  cave  habitable.  Who  knows 
but  it  may  be  necessary  to  seek  it  as  a  refuge  from  pursuit  and 
danger  some  day  ?  Who  knows  but  that  he  may  be  compelled 
to  seek  safety  here  some  day  from  his  enemies,  or  even  from  his 
friends  ? 

Whatever  he  could  spare  from  the  little  sums  of  money 
which  his  mother  occasionally  gave  him,  or  from  the  presents 
of  Mr.  Lion  or  his  old  uncle,  he  devoted  to  the  purchase  of 
bedding,  or  some  other  article  of  furniture  of  the  kind  used  in 
the  huts  of  the  poor.  And  then  at  night,  when  no  one  could 
see  him,  he  would  creep  with  these  things  into  his  cave,  his 
palace  of  the  future.  Sometimes,  while  sitting  there  dreaming, 
the  deep-blue  sky  looking  down  upon  him,  the  sun  throwing 
a  ray  of  golden  light  through  the  cave,  strange  visions  would 
appear  to  him.  The  cave  would  transform  itself  into  a  glitter- 
ing palace,  and  the  wretched  mat  that  lay  on  the  ground  be- 
came a  luxurious  silken  couch,  on  which  he  reclined,  smoking 
his  tschibak,  while  slaves  stood  around  in  reverential  attitudes, 
ready  to  do  his  bidding.  When  seated  on  his  rickety  stool — 
a  costly  possession— for  it  had  been  bought  with  the  last  rem- 
nant of  his  money,  it  seemed  to  him  that,  clothed  in  purple, 
he  had  mounted  his  throne,  around  which  wondrous  strains 
of  melody  resounded.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  it  was  the 
murmur  of  the  waves  beating  upon  the  rock-bound  shore  with- 
out •;  to  him  they  were  the  triumphant  songs  of  his  future 
greeting  him,  the  ruler. 

"  A  ruler,  a  hero,  a  prince,  he  is  to  be,"  said  the  prophetess 
to  his  mother,  and  he  will  do  what  he  can  to  fulfil  this 
prophecy. 

It  was  with  a  great  effort  only  that  he  could  tear  himself 
away  from  such  ecstatic  dreams  ;  quit  his  hidden  paradise,  and 
go  out  into  the  world,  into  reality  again. 

One  cannot  live  on  dreams  ;  one  must  eat,  too.  But  it  an- 
noys him  that  he  is  subjected  to  this  wretched  necessity  of 
eating. 


20  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  If  I  should  have  nothing  to  eat ;  if  I  should  become  so 
poor  and  miserable  as  to  have  no  bread,  must  I  then  die  be- 
cause I  am  in  the  habit  of  eating  ? "  he  would  ask  himself,  in 
angry  tones. 

*'  I  will  learn  to  live  without  eating  ! "  he  cried,  in  a  loud 
voice. 

For  days  he  would  wander  about  in  the  forests  and  among 
the  rocks,  at  a  distance  from  all  human  habitations,  taking  no 
food,  in  order  that  he  might  accustom  himself  to  live  on  little. 

On  one  occasion  he  remained  absent  from  his  mother's  hut 
two  days  and  nights,  and  Khadra  awaited  his  return  in  deathly 
anxiety.  Will  he  never  return  ;  has  she  lost  him,  her  only 
son,  the  hope  of  her  future,  the  blessing  of  her  existence  ? 

At  last,  on  the  tbird  day,  she  sees  him  coming  ;  pale  and 
exhausted,  he  totters  toward  her,  and  yet  his  bearing  is  defiant, 
and  his  eye  sparkles. 

She  hurries  forward  with  extended  arms  to  meet  him. 
"  Where  have  you  been,  my  beloved  ;  where  were  you  tarry- 
ing in  the  distance,  forgetting  that  a  mother's  heart  was  long- 
ing for  you  ? " 

He  pressed  his  mother's  hand  to  his  lips,  looking  stead- 
fastly into  her  eyes.  "  I  was  with  my  future,  Mother  Khadra," 
said  he  in  a  low  voice.  "  I  was  with  the  days  that  are  to  come, 
the  days  when  I  shall  stand  on  the  palace,  a  man,  a  hero,  sword 
in  hand,  at  my  feet  a  people  looking  up  to  me  imploringly. 
You  see,  mother,  your  dream  is  fulfilled,  the  hero  who  stands 
up  there  has  again  transformed  himself  into  your  boy  !  He  is 
here  and  greets  you." 

"But  why  is  my  boy  pale  and  exhausted?"  asked  Sitta 
Khadra,  anxiously,  as  she  clasped  him  in  her  arms. 

'•  I  don't  know  ! "  said  he,  wearily.  "  It  seems  to  me  that 
my  feet  refuse  to  bear  me  longer,  that  something  is  drawing 
me  upward.  Let  us  go  to  the  hut,  mother." 

He  grasped  her  arm  hastily  and  led  her  away  as  though  he 
were  quite  strong,  but  Khadra  observed  that  his  lips  trembled, 
and  that  his  face  was  pallid. 

"  He  looks  hungry,"  she  murmured  to  herself.  "  Yes,  I  see 
he  is  hungry  !  Buried  in  his  thoughts,  he  has  again  forgotten 
to  take  food." 


BOYISH    DREAMS.  21 

She  said  no  more,  but  walked  hastily  to  the  hut  and  led 
him  in.  "  Son  of  my  heart,  I  have  been  awaiting  you,"  said 
she,  with  an  innocent  air.  "  I  did  not  wish  to  partake  of  our 
simple  supper  until  my  son  had  come  home.  Let  us  sit  down 
and  eat.  Allah  bless  our  meal  ! '' 

It  does  not  escape  her  that  his  eye  suddenly  glitters  as  he 
looks  at  the  bread  and  dates  brought  yesterday  by  the  boys  as 
his  tribute. 

With  a  quick  motion  he  stretches  out  his  hand  toward  the 
fruit,  but  suddenly  withdraws  it,  as  if  ashamed  of  himself  : 

"  It  does  not  become  children  to  seat  themselves  before 
their  parents,  and  eat  before  they  have  broken  bread.  Eat, 
mother  ;  seat  yourself,  and  allow  your  son  to  wait  on  you." 

That  he  might  not  feel  hurt,  she  seated  herself  quickly  and 
took  part  of  the  fruit  offered  her.  She  handed  him  some,  and 
now  human  nature  conquered  the  spirit,  and  he  heartily  ate  of 
the  fruit  and  bread. 

"  Where  were  you,  my  boy  ?  Light  of  my  eyes,  where 
were  you  ?  "  asked  the  mother. 

'"  Up  there  among  the  rocks,  and  below  on  the  shore,"  re- 
plied he,  smiling. 

"  Where  did  you  find  food  there  ?  I  know  that  eagles, 
hawks,  and  doves,  find  their  food  among  the  rocks,  but  for 
mankind  there  is  no  food  there." 

"  And  I  found  none,  Mother  Khadra  ;  I  must  learn  to  do 
with  little,  to  conquer  hunger,  and  I  fought  with  it  for  two 
days.  See  how  I  am  rewarded  ! — my  food  never  tasted  so  de- 
liciously  before." 

"  Eat,  my  boy  !  Allah  bless  your  food  and  drink  !  How 
fortunate  that  I  have  something  for  your  thirst,  too  !  Uncle 
Toussoun  Aga  brought  me  to-day  a  bottle  of  Cyprian  wine,  a 
present  from  Mr.  Lion.  You  must  drink  of  it,  my  boy." 

He  shook  his  head.  *'  No,  Sitta  Khadra,  I  will  not  drink  of 
the  wine  sent  you  by  the  noble  merchant  to  restore  your 
strength.  Water  from  the  well,  from  the  spring  of  life,  is  a 
better  drink  for  me.  For  you,  the  Cyprian  wine,  for  me  the 
spring-wine  that  bubbles  from  the  rock." 

He  took  down  the  gourd  cup  from  the  wall,  and  went  out 
and  quenched  his  thirst  with  long  draughts  at  the  spring,  and 


22  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

then  returned  to  his  mother.  He  was  now  restored  to  strength 
and  vigor  ;  the  color  returned  to  his  cheeks,  and  his  knees  no 
longer  trembled. 

"  My  eyes'  delight,  my  Mohammed  fresh  and  full  of  life 
again  ! "  cried  Mother  Khadra.  "  Light  of  my  life,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  yourself  again.  But  I  beg  you,  my  boy,  not  to 
make  such  cruel  experiments  on  yourself.  It  is  wholesome  to 
harden  the  body,  but  not  to  abuse  it,  and  you  abuse  your  own 
handsome  self  when  you  torment  yourself  with  hunger  and 
thirst  unnecessarily." 

"  Not  unnecessarily,  Mother  Khadra,"  he  replied,  shaking 
his  head.  "He,  only,  who  knows  how  to  practise  self-denial, 
can  enjoy.  At  first  I  couldn't  understand  this,  now  I  do,  and 
have  experienced  it  in  myself.  I  have  practised  self-denial  for 
two  days,  and  now  I  have  enjoyed  ;  and  thus  it  shall  be  in  the 
future,  Sitta  Khadra.  I  shall  learn  to  do  without,  in  order 
that  I  may  enjoy.  Do  not  scold  me  for  this  ;  do  not  say,  with 
the  rest,  that  I  am  an  obstinate  boy  !  I  am  not,  mother,  but  I 
must  prepare  myself  for  the  future  which  you  have  announced 
to  me.  Your  dream  must  be  realized,  and  therefore  must  I  do 
what  I  am  doing.  Let  me  have  my  way,  and  remember  that 
Allah  is  with  me  everywhere.  And  remember  this,  too, 
mother,  that  wherever  I  may  be,  I  shall  hear  your  call  should 
you  need  me.  If,  at  any  time  when  I  am  not  here,  you  should 
need  me,  you  have  only  to  step  out  before  the  door,  and  imitate 
the  scream  of  the  eagle  when  he  hovers  in  the  air  over  his  nest, 
and  announces  to  his  brood  that  he  is  coming.  You  recollect 
hearing  it  when  we  were  on  the  cliffs  together  the  other  day. 
I  pointed  to  an  eagle  hovering  in  the  air,  imitated  his  cry,  and 
begged  you  to  do  so  too.  It  was  not  done  without  a  purpose, 
mother  :  I  wished  you  to  learn  his  cry,  in  order  that  you,  too, 
might  call  your  brood  in  case  of  need." 

The  mother  smiled.  "  A  strange  idea  !  What  would  people 
think  if  I  should  step  out  before  the  door,  and  scream  into  the 
air  in  the  tones  of  an  eagle  ? " 

"  Let  people  think  what  they  please,  mother,"  said  he,  with 
a  contemptuous  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  "What  care  we? 
They  already  laugh  at  and  mock  us.  But  a  time  shall  come, 
Sitta  Khadra,  when  they  shall  bow  down  before  you,  and  I 


BOYISH   DEEAMS.  23 

only  implore  that  Allah  may  permit  you  to  live  to  see  the  time 
when  your  son  shall  stand  on  the  palace,  and  wield  his  sword 
over  humanity.  Why  do  you  sigh,  mother  ? "  he  asked  hastily, 
and  what  he  had  never  before  observed,  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  ;  her  cheeks  were  sunken,  and  her  face  pale.  "Why  do 
you  weep,  mother  ? " 

"  I  know  not,  my  son.  I  only  fear  the  time  is  yet  far  dis- 
tant when  Mohammed  Ali  shall  stand  on  the  palace  with  up- 
lifted sword,  the  nations  bowed  down  before  him  !  I  am  only 
afraid  I  shall  not  live  to  see  this  time." 

"Are  you  ill,  mother;  are  you  ill?"  cried  the  boy,  anx- 
iously and  tenderly.  He  rushed  to  her,  clasped  her  in  his 
arms,  and  fixed  his  brown  eyes  on  hers  with  an  earnest,  anx- 
ious look.  "Tell  me — I  conjure  you  in  the  name  of  the 
prophet — tell  me,  are  you  ill,  Sitta  Khadra  ? " 

She  forced  herself  to  regard  him  with  a  smile.  "  No,  light 
of  my  eyes  !  beloved  of  my  soul  !  When  I  see  you.  I  am  not 
ill  ;  when  I  see  and  hear  you,  my  heart  is  in  health  and  at  rest, 
and—" 

"  You  have  no  disease,  no  pains  ? "  asked  her  son,  interrupt- 
ing her.  "  Your  cheeks  are  pale,  and  your  lips  tremble.  Tell 
me,  nothing  ails  you,  you  are  quite  well  ? " 

''  Quite  well,  my  beloved,  and  nothing  ails  me.  All  that  is 
wanting  in  my  poor  life  is  the  moment  when  you  shall  have 
become  a  great  man,  honored  by  men,  and  blessed  by  Allah." 

"  Honored  by  men,  I  will  become  ;  the  blessing  of  Allah 
you  shall  implore  down  upon  my  head,  mother  !  You  must 
only  remain  in  health  to  see  me  in  my  grandeur.  You  will  not 
pain  me,  mother,  by  falling  ill,  and  following  my  father  Ibra- 
him Aga,  before  you  can  say  to  him,  '  My  dream  is  realized, 
and  your  son  Mohammed  has  become  a  great  and  mighty 
hero,'  will  you  ?  Leave  me  not  too  soon,  mother  ;  promise  to 
remain  with  me  on  earth  until  the  prophecy  is  fulfilled." 

"  Dear  boy  !  "  said  she,  with  a  sad  smile.  u  How  can  the 
poor  child  of  earth  promise  what  Allah  must  alone  decide  ? 
We  must  walk  as  Allah  directs,  and  submit  to  his  will  with 
humility,  for  thus  it  is  written  in  the  Koran  :  '  Before  the 
great  God  who  sits  enthroned  above  the  stars,  bow  thy  head  in 
humility  ;  Allah  determines,  and  man  shall  obey  in  pious  sub- 


24  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

mission.'  So  must  we,  my  boy  !  Man  is  mortal,  and  passes 
away  ;  as  the  withered  leaf  is  wafted  away  by  the  wind  and 
perishes,  so  the  storm  wind  of  life  seizes  upon  man  and  de- 
stroy shim." 

•'  But  not  you,  not  you,  mother  ! "  cried  the  boy,  fiercely 
grasping  his  mother's  shoulders  in  childish  anger.  "  No,  I  will 
not  believe  it,  and  it  shall  not  be  !  The  storm  shall  not  destroy 
you,  for  you  must  live  to  see  your  son  great  and  mighty,  that 
he  may  recompense  you  for  your  days  of  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing." 

"  You  hurt  me,"  said  his  mother,  gently  releasing  her  shoul- 
ders from  his  grasp.  Mohammed  burst  into  tears  that  poured 
down  his  cheeks  in  streams. 

The  mother  kissed  them  away.  "  My  son,  pearl  of  my  ex- 
istence ! — only  light  in  life's  night  ! — my  beloved  son,  what 
would  I  be  without  you  ?  what  should  I  do  in  the  dark  night 
without  the  lustre  of  this  star  ?  I  kiss  these  eyes,  son  of  my 
heart,  and  bless  you  with  Allah's  blessing  !  Be  strong  and 
brave,  my  son,  and  weep  not !  Leave  tears  to  women.  You 
are  a  man  in  spite  of  your  thirteen  years,  therefore  weep  not ; 
even  though  the  worst  should  befall,  weep  not." 

"  The  worst  ?  What  does  that  mean,  mother  ?  You  wish  to 
prepare  me,  I  read  it  in  your  look  ;  you  wish  to  prepare  me 
for  your  death  !  If  you  die,  I  will  die,  too  ;  if  you  die,  my 
whole  life  will  I  bury  in  the  sea,  and — " 

He  could  speak  no  further,  and  heart-sick  he  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  mother's  shoulder. 

"You  are  not  yourself,  poor  boy,"  said  she,  gently,  as  she 
bathed  his  forehead  with  water  ;  "  you  see  the  body  still 
governs  the  mind,  and  long  fasting  has  made  you  weak.  Ee- 
member  this,  my  boy.  To  keep  the  mind  vigorous  you  must 
give  the  body  nourishment ;  if  you  had  not  fasted  for  two 
days,  you  would  not  weep  now.  Not  because  you  are  alarmed, 
but  because  you  are  weak,  do  you  weep." 

He  understood  these  words  of  heroism  ;  he  understood  that 
maternal  love  had  given  her  strength  to  console  him  with  these 
quiet,  matter-of-fact  utterances.  He  tenderly  kissed  her  hands, 
murmuring  :  u  Sitta  Khadra.  you  are  a  heroine,  and  I  will  learn 
from  you  to  be  a  hero." 


BOYISH   DREAMS.  25 

They  sat  in  each  other's  embrace  for  a  long  time,  silent, 
and  yet  they  were  speaking  to  each  other  with  their  thoughts 
and  souls,  and  understood  what  soul  said  to  soul,  and  heart  to 
heart.  Often,  after  long  years,  will  the  son  still  think  of  this 
hour  when  he  sat  by  his  mother's  side,  in  solitude  and  silence, 
his  head  resting  on  her  bosom — in  his  glittering  palace  will  he 
still  think  of  it  ?  In  the  fulness  of  his  magnificence,  with  the, 
soul's  eye,  will  he  look  into  this  poor,  dark  little  chamber 
will  he  longingly  think  of  his  mother,  of  his  first  and  holiest 
love? 

"  Promise  me,  Mohammed,"  said  she,  after  a  long  silence, 
"  promise  me  that  you  will  never  fast  and  torture  yourself  so 
long  again." 

"  I  promise  you,  Sitta  Khadra,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice, 
"  you  are  right ;  the  body  must  be  strengthened  that  the  soul 
may  be  strong.  I  need  a  strong  body  that  I  may  be  able  to 
climb  the  rocky  pathway  of  life  to  the  summit,  to  the  eagle's 
eyry,  far  above  the  lowliness  of  life.  I  promise  you,  mother, 
that  from  this  day  I  will  no  longer  torture  my  body,  but  it 
shall  be  taught  to  defy  want,  and  to  subordinate  itself  to  the 
mind.  Do  not  scold,  Mother  Khadra,  if  I  am  often  away  from 
you.  In  solitude  I  learn.  I  converse  with  the  invisible 
spirits  that  hover  about  me  in  the  air.  They  teach  me  won- 
drous things,  which  I  cannot  relate  to  you  to-day,  but  which 
help  me  to  prepare  for  the  future.  Do  not  forget,  mother, 
when  I  am  away  from  you.  and  you  need  me,  to  call  me  with 
the  eagle's  cry." 

A  faint  smile  trembled  on  her  lips.  "  If,  however,  son  of 
my  heart,  I  should  be  unable  to  utter  this  cry,  if  my  voice 
should  be  too  weak  to  reach  you — " 

He  again  regarded  her  with  an  anxious,  inquiring  look. 
"  Can  that  be,  Sitta  Khadra  ?  Do  you  believe  your  voice  can 
become  so  weak  ? '' 

"  Be  reassured,  my  son  ;  I  neither  believe  nor  fear  it,  but 
yet  it  might  be." 

"Yes,  it  might  be,"  said  he,  passing  his  trembling  hand 

across  his  brow.     "  I  shall  go  to  Uncle  Toussoun  Aga  and  tell 

him  how  to  call  me.     Only  promise  me,  mother,  that,  if  you 

need  me,  and  are  not  able  to  call  yourself,  you  will  send  for 

3 


26  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

uncle  and  tell  him  to  do  so.  I  could  otherwise  have  no 
peace  ;  could  not  attend  to  my  work  and  occupation,  unless 
I  knew  that  you  would  have  me  called  to  you  when  you  need 
me." 

"  It  shall  be  so,  my  son.  When  I  need  you,  you  shall  be 
called,  and  now  do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  disturbed  in  your 
occupations.  Fly  out,  young  eagle,  out  into  the  air,  out 
among  the  rocks,  and  learn  from  heaven  and  earth  what  to  do 
to  prepare  for  your  future." 

She  kissed  his  brow  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  head  in  a 
blessing.  Mohammed  kissed  this  hand,  and  then  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  went  to  his  old  uncle  Toussoun  Aga.  With  per- 
fect gravity  he  begged  permission  to  teach  him  the  eagle's  cry, 
that  he  might  be  able  to  call  him  when  his  mother  should 
need  him. 

The  old  man  looked  up  from  the  fishing-nets,  at  which  he 
was  working,  in  utter  bewilderment.  "  What  possesses  you, 
Mohammed  Ali  ?  What  an  idea  to  take  into  your  head,  to 
train  the  old  fellow  who  is  good  for  nothing  but  to  make  nets 
for  the  fishermen,  in  which  they  catch  the  red  mareles  and  the 
blue  flyers — to  train  this  old  fellow  to  imitate  the  eagle  and 
scream  like  the  king  of  the  air  ! " 

''And  yet  you  must  learn  to  cry  like  this  same  eagle, 
uncle  !  "  With  resistless  force  he  drew  his  uncle  from  his  mat, 
and  almost  compelled  him  to  go  up  with  him  to  the  verge  of 
the  rock.  High  above  where  the  cliff  projects  far  out  into  the 
sea,  there,  with  a  serious  air,  Mohammed  taught  his  uncle  the 
eagle's  cry. 

At  first  his  uncle  refused  to  imitate  him  and  utter  the  cry 
as  directed,  but  Mohammed  regarded  him  with  so  wild  and 
angry  a  look,  and  then  entreated  him  in  such  soft  and  tender 
tones  to  do  it  for  his  dear  mother's  sake,  whose  call  would, 
perhaps,  be  too  weak  to  reach  him,  that  the  old  man  could  at 
last  no  longer  refuse. 

When  he  had  imitated  him  in  a  loud,  shrill  voice,  Moham- 
med smiled  and  nodded  approvingly. 

"  That  will  do.  And  if  I  should  be  ever  so  distant  and 
hear  this  cry,  I  will  come  home  to  mother.  But  tell  me,  Uncle 
Toussoun  Aga,  tell  me,  by  all  that  is  holy,  by  the  prophet  and 


BOYISH   DREAMS.  27 

by  the  name  of  Allah,  tell  me  the  truth  :  is  my  mother 
ill?" 

Toussoun  Aga's  countenance  assumed  a  very  grave  expres- 
sion, and  he  looked  down  confused. 

"  Answer  me  !  "  cried  Mohammed,  vehemently.  "  Is  my 
mother  ill  ?  In  the  name  of  the  prophet,  I  command  you  to 
tell  me  the  truth  !  " 

'*  Do  not  demand  it,  son  of  my  beloved  brother,  Ibrahim 
Aga,"  said  the  old  man,  sorrowfully.  "  It  does  not  become 
man  to  pry  into  the  mysteries  of  Allah.  We  are  all  in  Allah's 
hand,  and  what  he  determines  must  be,  and  we  should  not  at- 
tempt to  look  into  the  future." 

"  Yet  tell  me — and  may  Allah  forgive  me  for  wishing  to 
look  into  the  future — is  my  mother  ill  ? " 

"She  looks  pale,"  murmured  the  old  man.  "When  she 
walks  her  breath  is  short,  and,  when  she  gives  me  her  hands 
in  greeting,  I  feel  them  burn  as  though  fire  flowed  in  her 
veins.  But  it  may  pass  away,  nephew.  She  may  recover  ; 
she  is  still  weak  from  her  former  illness  ;  you-  recollect  the 
severe  fever  she  had  ?  But  she  will  recover,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose Mr.  Lion  sent  her  the  strengthening  wine  ;  it  will  do 
her  good,  and  she  will  get  better. " 

"  Yes,  she  will  get  better,"  said  the  boy.  "  It  is  impossible 
she  should  die,  for  I  should  then  be  entirely  alone  in  the 
world." 

"  Entirely  alone  ? "  asked  the  old  man,  regarding  him  re- 
proachfully. "  As  long  as  Toussoun  Aga  lives,  his  nephew, 
Mohammed  Ali,  is  not  entirely  alone." 

Mohammed  held  out  his  hand.  "Thanks,  uncle."  He 
nodded  to  the  old  man,  turned  away,  and  sprang  off  over  the 
rocks  with  such  rapid  bounds  that  old  Toussoun  looked  after 
him  in  amazement. 

"He  leaps  like  a  gazelle.  Light  is  his  step,  and  splendid 
his  figure.  How  long  will  he  still  bless  his  mother's  sight  ? 
how  long  shall  my  old  eyes  be  gladdened  by  this  young  ga- 
zelle, this  young  eagle  ? " 

The  old  man  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  two  tears 
trickled  slowly  down  his  cheeks. 


28  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

PREMONITION  OF  DEATH. 

SINCE  the  day  when  Mohammed  had  first  conceived  a  dark 
foreboding  of  his  mother's  insidious  disease,  he  had  become 
more  earnest  and  gloomy  in  his  disposition.  The  other  boys 
avoided  meeting  and  coming  into  collision  with  him  ;  they 
paid  the  well-earned  tribute  of  fruits  from  their  parents'  gar- 
dens, and  assumed  an  almost  humble  demeanor  in  his  pres- 
ence. He  sometimes  challenged  them  to  race  or  wrestle  with 
him,  but  only  the  strongest  and  most  active  would  enter  into 
such  trials  with  him,  and  he  always  remained  the  victor. 
They  were  in  the  habit  of  turning  down  a  side  street  when 
they  saw  him  advancing  toward  them,  and,  when  they  ob- 
served him  among  the  rocks  with  his  little  gun  on  his  shoulder, 
they  would  hide  themselves  behind  some  rocky  projection  and 
remain  concealed  until  he  had  passed.  But  Mohammed  saw 
them.  His  eye  would  glitter  when  he  passed  their  hiding- 
places,  and  a  contemptuous  smile  play  about  his  lips.  "  The 
hawks  fear  the  eagle,"  he  would  murmur  to  himself,  "  but  the 
eagle  will  some  day  pluck  out  their  feathers  and  show  them 
that  he  is  master." 

Striving  to  earn  money  to  procure  little  luxuries  for  his 
mother,  he  would  more  rarely  absent  himself  from  home  for 
longer  periods  than  formerly.  When  the  storm  raged,  and 
the  boldest  fishermen  feared  to  venture  over  to  Imbro  where 
their  nets  were  laid,  Mohammed  would  offer  to  go  for  them, 
provided  they  gave  him  double  wages  ;  and  the  fishermen, 
fearing  that  the  wild  waves  might  bear  away  their  nets  filled 
with  the  rare  fish  that  only  came  up  from  the  deep  during  the 
storm,  would  willingly  accede  to  his  demands.  One  day  when 
the  sea  was  roaring  and  foaming  wildly,  one  of  the  fishermen 
stood  upon  the  shore  imploring  Allah  to  save  the  nets  he  had 
taken  to  Imbro  the  day  before,  and  which,  assuredly  filled  with 
the  rarest  fish,  had  perhaps  already  become  a  prey  to  the  waves. 

"Why  not  go  after  them  ?"  said  a  mocking  voice  behind 
him.  "  Go  over  and  get  your  nets." 


PREMONITION   OF   DEATH.  29 

The  fisherman  regarded  the  intrepid  boy  Mohammed,  who 
now  stood  at  his  side,  with  severity.  "  No  one  would  venture 
out  in  such  a  storm.  Moreover,  this  is  Thursday,  the  evil  day 
on  which  the  ghins,  who  draw  men  into  the  deep,  are  abroad. 
I  must  therefore  lose  my  rich  catch  and  the  nets  besides. 
Your  old  uncle,  Toussoun  Aga,  will  be  well  pleased,  how- 
ever, for  it  will  take  all  I  have  to  purchase  new  nets  from 
him." 

'•  My  uncle  can  make  no  nets  at  present,"  said  Mohammed. 
"  He  has  been  ill  for  weeks  ;  I  therefore  advise  you  to  save 
those  you  have,  as  you  will  find  it  impossible  to  procure  as 
good  ones  from  anybody  else." 

"  A  good  piece  of  advice  1 "  cried  the  fisherman,  angrily. 
"  But  what  am  I  to  do  if  the  storm  tears  my  nets  away  ?  " 

"Try  to  save  your  nets,"  replied  Mohammed,  laughing. 
"  What  will  you  give  me  if  I  go  over  and  get  them  and  the 
catch  of  fish  besides  ? " 

"  You  wouldn't  attempt  it !  Look  how  the  waves  roar  and 
open  their  wide  jaws  as  if  to  devour  you  even  here  on  the 
shore  !  You  will  not  venture  out." 

"  I  know  the  waves,"  replied  the  boy,  "  and  I  know  your 
boat.  It  glides  over  the  water  like  a  nutshell,  and  the  mon- 
sters of  the  deep  love  me  and  will  safely  bear  me  over  to  the 
island  on  their  backs.  I  will  go  if  you  will  give  me  what  I 
ask." 

"  What  do  you  ask  ? " 

"  You  shall  give  me  half  your  fish.  If  I  bring  them  over 
safely,  call  four  of  your  friends  ;  let  them  fairly  estimate  the 
price,  and  then  pay  me  my  share.  Will  you  agree  to  this, 
Omar  ? " 

"  No,  I  will  not !  This  is  unheard  of  !  "  cried  the  fisher- 
man, angrily. 

"Just  as  you  please,"  said  Mohammed,  quietly.  "You 
would  rather  lose  the  whole,  than  save  half,  and  the  nets  be- 
sides. Consider  well  that  Toussoun  Aga  has  perhaps  made  his 
last  nets,  and  that  yours  were  quite  new,  and  the  finest  quality 
he  ever  made." 

"  Be  satisfied  with  a  fourth  part  of  the  fish,  and  the  bargain 
is  made,"  said  Omar,  as  he  looked  longingly  toward  the  island, 


30  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

now,  as  the  waves  had  subsided  somewhat,  visible  as  a  dark 
spot  on  the  horizon.  The  boy  regarded  him  angrily. 

"  I  am  no  tradesman,  and  will  not  be  cheapened.  Half  of 
the  fish,  or  I  remain  here." 

"Well,  if  it  must  be,  take  half,  you  usurer  ! "  cried  the  en- 
raged fisherman. 

"  Where  is  your  boat  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  quietly. 

"  Down  there  in  the  inlet.  And  now  be  quick  about  it, 
boy!" 

"Directly!  But  every  thing  in  its  order.  You  must  first 
acknowledge  the  bargain  before  witnesses." 

"  Before  witnesses  ? "  cried  the  enraged  fisherman.  "  Is 
not  Allah  the  witness  of  an  honest  man's  promise  ?" 

"  He  is.  But  who  knows  but  the  roaring  of  the  storm  has 
prevented  your  words  from  ascending  to  his  ear?"  replied 
Mohammed,  with  a  mocking  smile.  "  I  will  bring  Mr.  Lion  ; 
you  can  repeat  your  words  before  him." 

Before  Omar  could  prevent  him,  the  boy  bounded  away  to 
the  merchant,  and  begged  him  to  come  and  witness  Omar's 
promise.  The  merchant  willingly  followed  his  favorite  in 
spite  of  the  storm  and  the  spray  which  the  waves  tossed  up  to 
the  spot  where  the  men  were  standing.  When  he  learned 
what  was  in  contemplation,  and  when  Omar  had  repeated  his 
promise,  the  merchant  shook  his  head  resolutely.  "  This  can- 
not and  shall  not  be.  You  shall  not  drive  the  boy  out  in  such 
weather  ;  the  sea  is  an  open  grave,  as  it  were  ! " 

"  Mr.  Lion  ! "  cried  Mohammed,  advancing  toward  him, 
his  arms  folded  on  his  breast.  "  Look  at  me  !  Why  do  you 
call  me  a  boy  ?  Am  I  not  taller  than  many  of  the  men 
on  our  island  ;  am  I  not  stronger  than  many  boys  of  eigh- 
teen?" 

" It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Lion.  "Though  only  fourteen,  you 
are  no  longer  a  boy.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mohammed  Ali,  for 
considering  your  years  and  not  your  strength.  But  all  the 
same,  whether  youth  or  boy,  no  one  goes  to  sea  in  such 
weather." 

"  I  will  show  you  that  one  does  go  to  sea  in  such  weather, 
when  good  wages  are  to  be  made  !  "  exclaimed  Mohammed,  as 
he,  before  the  merchant  could  prevent  him,  quickly  ran  down 


PREMONITION   OF   DEATH.  31 

to  the  little  inlet,  loosened  Omar's  boat  from  its  fastening,  and 
sprang  into  it. 

He  was  soon  out  among  the  waves.  They  roar  and  surge 
around  him,  but  what  cares  he  '{  He  throws  himself  down  in 
the  boat  and  holds  fast  with  both  hands.  The  waves  alter- 
nately lift  him  aloft,  and  bury  him  out  of  sight.  It  is  splendid 
sport.  It  is  long  since  Mohammed  has  felt  so  well  as  now, 
when  tossed  in  his  frail  skiff  on  the  foaming  deep.  He  shouts 
in  exultation  : 

u  Thus  will  I  battle  my  life  long  !  Thus  will  I  ever  van- 
quish difficulties  through  life  !  And  see,  the  wind  is  favorable, 
and  I  shall  get  over  !  " 

What  he  had  exultingly  shouted  to  the  waves,  took  place  ; 
he  got  safely  over,  found  the  nets  in  good  condition,  drew 
them  ashore,  and  waited  on  the  rock  until  the  storm  had  some- 
what subsided.  Really  it  seemed  that  Sitta  Khadra  was  right : 
his  agathodaemon  watched  over  him,  for,  sooner  than  usual, 
the  tempest  calmed  down,  and  the  sun  broke  forth  from  be- 
hind the  clouds.  It  was  now  a  comparatively  easy  matter  for 
Mohammed  to  get  back  to  the  opposite  shore  where  Omar  was 
awaiting  him  with  several  of  his  comrades.  The  fisherman's 
face  was  angry  and  lowering.  It  annoyed  him  that  he  had 
not  waited  for  the  storm  to  go  down,  instead  of  making  the 
bargain  with  Mohammed,  for  he  must  now  keep  his  word  and 
pay  the  boy  what  he  had  earned.  This  day  his  rich  catch  of 
fish  gave  Omar  no  pleasure.  His  face  grew  darker  and  darker, 
while  the  men  were  opening  the  nets  and  counting  the  fish. 
It  was  well  that  the  shrewd  boy  had  caused  Omar  to  repeat  his 
promise  before  a  witness,  and  before  so  highly  esteemed  a  wit- 
ness, for  the  fisherman  would  have  otherwise  refused,  in  all 
probability,  to  share  the  harvest  of  his  nets  with  Moham- 
med. 

He  was  now  compelled  to  yield  to  the  decision  of  the  fisher- 
men, who  declared  that  the  half  of  the  fish  caught  were  worth 
at  least  four  ducats.  The  boy's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as 
Omar  reluctantly  and  hesitatingly  drew  the  money  from  his 
long  leather  purse  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  It  will  bring  you  no  blessing  !  "  growled  the  fisherman. 
"  You  are  a  greedy,  headstrong  boy  ;  you  deprive  the  father 


32  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

of  a  family  of  half  his  hard  earnings.  The  ghins  will  pay  you 
back  for  what  you  have  swindled  me  out  of." 

"  I  have  swindled  you  out  of  nothing.  I  risked  my  life  for 
four  ducats,  have  earned  them  honestly,  and  it  does  not  he- 
come  you  to  abuse  me  for  it  before  these  people. — Speak  your- 
selves, you  men,  am  I  right  ?  " 

u  Certainly  you  are  right,"  they  cried  with  one  voice. 

''  No  ;  no  one  can  abuse  you  for  receiving  your  well-earned 
wages,"  said  Mr.  Lion,  beckoning  to  the  boy  to  follow  him. 
"  You  must  be  exhausted — come  with  me  to  my  home.  You 
shall  dine  with  me  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  Your  clothes 
are  thoroughly  drenched  ;  you  shall  dry  them  at  the  fire." 

Mohammed  laughed.  "  Wet  I  am,  to  be  sure,  but  the  fire 
that  burns  in  my  veins  will  soon  dry  the  stuff.  I  will,  how- 
ever, gladly  eat  a  little  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  you. 
It  was  a  hard  fight  with  the  sea-monsters,  they  seemed  to  roar 
in  my  ears,  '  We  will  have  you,  we  will  pull  you  down  ! ' 
And  yet  it  sounded  sweetly  !  There  is  no  finer  music  than 
when  the  sea-monsters  come  up  from  the  deep  and  sing  their 
wild  songs." 

"  You  are  a  strange  being,"  said  Mr.  Lion,  regarding  him 
lovingly.  "  I  rejoice  in  you,  and,  if  it  were  not  that  people 
would  say  of  me  that  I  wished  to  convert  a  Mussulman  to  my 
religion,  I  would  gladly  adopt  you  as  my  son.  Tell  me,  if  I 
should  leave  this  place,  would  you  go  with  me  to  the  land  of 
the  Franks,  accept  my  religion,  and  become  the  heir  of  my 
fortune  ? " 

"  And  you  ask  this  ?  Say  that  it  was  a  jest !  For  you 
surely  could  not  desire  that  the  son  of  his  father  should  be- 
come a  renegade  !  No,  Mr.  Lion,  a  Mussulman  who  could  al- 
low himself  to  be  converted  into  a  Christian  dog — pardon  me 
for  having  uttered  this  word,  it  was  not  intended  for  you, 
but—" 

"  But  only  for  the  Christian  dog  !  "  said  Mr.  Lion,  smiling. 
"Let  us  leave  it  as  it  is.  You  have  offended  me,  and  I  you. 
Let  us  be  friends  again,  and  empty  a  glass  with  each 
other." 

Mohammed  accompanied  him  to  his  house  and  ate  with 
him  and  drank  of  the  fiery  Cyprian  wine.  After  having  re- 


PREMONITION   OF   DEATH.  33 

freshed  and  strengthened  himself,  he  turned  to  Mr.  Lion  with 
a  merry  countenance  : 

"  Now  to  a  little  business  matter  that  I  have  to  transact 
with  you  ;  for,  if  I  had  not  met  you  below,  I  should  have 
come  up  here  after  you.  Look  at  my  four  magnificent  ducats  ; 
I  should  like  to  invest  them  with  you." 

"  You  are  a  shrewd  lad,  and  are  disposed  to  improve  your 
good  fortune.  That  is  right,  and  without  so  doing,  one  makes 
no  progress  in  the  world." 

"  You  shall  invest  them  with  me,  and  they  shall  bear  you 
good  interest." 

"  Not  in  that  way,"  cried  Mohammed.  "  I  have  no  desire 
to  lay  a  grain  of  sand  on  a  mountain,  with  the  expectation 
that  it  will  bear  fruit,  whereas  it  is  only  lost  among  the  others. 
No,  I  wish  to  buy  goods.  You  have  always  been  kind  and 
friendly  to  me,  and  from  me  you  will  certainly  not  demand 
as  much  as  from  the  rich  people  of  the  town,  or  the  governor." 

u  You  are  right,  Mohammed.  You  shall  have  the  goods  at 
the  price  they  cost  me.  What  will  you  have  ? " 

"  A  magnificent  silk  dress,  and  a  long  white  veil,  such  as 
the  ladies  of  rank  wear." 

''  See,  see  !  "  exclaimed  the  merchant,  regarding  the  boy, 
whose  eyes  fairly  sparkled  in  amazement.  "  You  were  right, 
Mohammed,  you  are  no  longer  a  boy.  You  are  in  love,  and  it 
is  assuredly  a  bride  to  whom  Mohammed  wishes  to  present 
this  love-offering  ? '' 

"  No,  Mr.  Lion,  no  bride,  but  a  love-offering  the  articles 
certainly  are." 

"Only  an  amorous  intrigue,  then  ?"  asked  the  merchant, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  You  are  beginning  early  with  such 
things,  Mohammed.  Yet  I  am  glad  you  are  not  about  to 
affiance  yourself,  as  is  customary  here  at  your  age,  with  a  girl 
ten  years  old,  whose  eyes  please  you,  or  who  has  a  good 
dower ;  ten  years  later,  after  she  has  been  long-veiled,  and 
you  no  longer  know  how  she  looks,  you  marry  her  and  take 
a  wife  to  your  home,  whom  to  be  sure  you  have  often  seen 
veiled,  and  often  spoken  to,  but  of  whose  present  looks  you 
know  nothing." 

"  If  we  do  not  like  her,  we  send  her  back  to  her  mother. 


34:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

There  is  nothing  that  binds  us  to  keep  the  woman  we  do  not 
like,  and  our  prophet  has  arranged  this  very  wisely — while 
you  Christians  must  keep  the  woman,  though  you  sometimes 
find  yourselves  very  badly  deceived.  Praise  to  Allah,  and 
thanks  to  the  prophet ! " 

"  Then  it  is  an  amorous  intrigue  ?  Well,  I  will  not  demand 
the  reason,  for  the  young  gentleman  certainly  knows  the 
first  law  of  love — discretion,"  observed  the  merchant,  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  have  no  use  for  that  law,"  said  Mohammed,  proudly. 
"  You  shall  know.  This  love-offering  is  for  my  mother.  She 
is  the  only  woman  I  love,  and  she  will  also  be  the  only  one 
I  shall  ever  love.  Give  me  a  beautiful  dress,  richly  embroid- 
ered, and  a  veil  adorned  with  golden  fringe.  She  shall  go  no 
more  to  the  mosque  so  poorly  dressed.  She  shall  be  magnifi- 
cently arrayed,  that  she  may  be  envied  by  all  other  women. 
Give  me  something  very  handsome." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  my  boy.  Excuse  me  for  calling  you 
so  again,  but  this  time  it  is  done  to  show  you  my  love  for 
your  childlike  heart.  Come  with  me  to  the  hall.  You  shall 
select  the  handsomest  dress,  regardless  of  the  cost." 

He  led  him  to  the  hall  in  which  he  kept  the  magnificent 
goods  from  which  the  ladies  in  the  harems  of  the  Turks  of 
rank  were  accustomed  to  select  their  festal  dresses,  and  spread 
the  beautiful  goods  out  before  Mohammed.  The  boy's  eyes 
sparkled  with  pleasure  as  he  beheld  this  costly  array.  He  se- 
lected a  magnificent  piece  of  purple  satin  embroidered  with 
silver,  and  an  Indian  veil  of  the  finest  make,  adorned  with 
fringe  of  real  gold.  It  was  a  suit  that  would  have  delighted 
the  daughters  of  the  sultan  at  Stamboul,  and  it  did  not  occur 
to  Mohammed  that  it  was  worth  at  least  ten  times  as  much  as 
he  had  to  give  for  it.  Mr.  Lion  took  the  four  ducats  with  a 
smile,  and  handed  him  the  beautiful  goods  wrapped  in  gilt- 
edged  paper.  Mohammed,  proud  of  his  bargain,  took  the  pack- 
age, and  ran  in  breathless  haste  to  his  mother. 

"  Here,  mother,  I  bring  you  something  you  will  like  ! "  he 
cried. 

"  Yourself  ? "  asked  Khadra,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  I  need 
nothing  else." 


PREMONITION   OF   DEATH.  35 

"  Yes,  Mother  Khadra,  you  do  need  something  else.  You 
need  a  dress  and  a  veil,  such  as  the  other  ladies  of  rank  wear. 
Do  not  be  alarmed,  mother,  it  is  honestly  acquired.  There, 
take  it,  and  rejoice  ! "  He  spread  the  costly  goods  out  before 
her,  expecting  her  to  cry  out  with  delight.  But  she  only 
became  sad  ;  on  her  pale  cheeks  glowed  the  roses  which 
Death  bestows  on  those  whom  he  is  about  to  call  to  himself. 

"  My  son  ! "  said  she.     "  This  magnificence  is  not  for  me  ! " 

"  Yes,  Mother  Khadra,  it  is  indeed  for  you.  Ask  the  mer- 
chant, Lion  ;  I  paid  for  it  honestly.  You  think,  perhaps,  I 
have  noticed  that  the  dress  in  which  you  go  to  the  mosque  is 
torn  and  faded  ?  You  think,  perhaps,  I  do  not  know  that  your 
head-dress  has  often  been  mended  ?  I  well  know  that  it  has 
been.  I  know,  too,  that  the  women  laugh  and  say  mocking- 
ly :  'She  has  not  even  a  Sabbath  dress,  and  appears  before 
Allah  in  the  garb  of  a  beggar  ! '  Therefore,  I  rejoice  at  hav- 
ing been  able  to  procure  a  new  dress  for  you,  mother.  Have 
it  made,  in  order  that  you  may  appear  before  Allah  in  festive 
attire." 

"  No,  my  son,  it  is  impossible,"  said  Khadra  sadly,  as  Mo- 
hammed held  out  the  costly  package. 

"  Why  impossible  ?  "  cried  he,  excitedly. 

"Because  it  does  not  become  the  widow  of  Ibrahim,  the 
poor  woman,  to  array  herself  in  garments  of  purple,  gold-em- 
broidered satin,  like  the  ladies  of  rank.  The  women  would 
laugh  at  and  mock  me  more  than  ever  if  I  should  wear  such 
magnificent  garments  instead  of  my  faded  dress.  Neither  can 
I  wear  the  veil.  You  can  preserve  all  this  to  give  to  your 
bride  some  day.  It  does  not  become  old  Sitta  Khadra  to  adorn 
herself  thus." 

"  You  are  not  old,  Mother  Khadra,"  said  he,  in  half -tender, 
half-angry  tones.  "You  are  still  young,  and  when  you  adorn 
yourself  with  these  garments,  there  will  be  no  handsomer 
woman  in  all  Cavalla  than  Sitta  Khadra.  I  beg  you  to  put 
them  on  ;  but,  to  please  me,  leave  the  veil  a  little  open,  as 
the  other  women  do,  that  people  may  see  how  beautiful  my 
mother  is." 

"  This  is  folly,  and  I  am  glad  no  one  else  hears  your  auda- 
cious words.  No  chaste  woman  opens  her  veil  to  permit  the 


36  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   UIS   HOUSE. 

gaze  of  disrespectful  men  to  fall  on  her,  and  my  son  Mo- 
hammed does  not  wish  to  blush  for  his  mother.  My  son, 
take  back  this  package  to  Mr.  Lion.  I  cannot  wear  such 
clothes." 

u  You  will  not  take  them  ? "  said  the  boy,  hastily  seizing 
the  package.  "  What  my  heart's  warmest  love  offers,  you  re- 
ject ? " 

"  I  reject  it,"  said  she,  gently.  "  I  have  no  need  of  such 
clothes." 

"  Very  well,"  cried  he,  defiantly.  "  If  you  do  not  need 
these  clothes,  I  will  give  them  to  the  mermaids.  They,  too, 
like  fine  clothes,  and  they  will  thank  me  more  for  that  which 
I  have  bought  with  my  life.  Yes,  I  will  do  this  ! " 

He  rushed  to  the  door  with  such  violence  that  Khadra 
could  hardly  recall  him.  "  Where  are  you  going,  Moham- 
med ? " 

"To  the  cliffs.  What  my  mother  despises  I  will  throw 
into  the  sea." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  about  to  do  that,  it  shall  be  as  you  wish," 
said  the  mother,  leading  him  back  from  the  door.  "If  the 
mermaids  are  to  have  these  beautiful  things,  it  is  better  Mother 
Khadra  should  keep  them." 

"  You  promise  me  to  wear  these  clothes  ? "  said  he,  a  smile 
suddenly  illuminating  his  face. 

Khadra  seated  herself,  spread  out  the  beautiful  goods,  and 
regarded  them  with  a  mournful  smile.  "  It  looks  like  mock- 
ery." 

"  No,  not  like  mockery,  but  like  pure  love,"  said  the  boy, 
eagerly.  "My  love  dresses  you  in  purple  and  gold,  and  I 
wish  to  see  Sitta  Khadra  the  most  brilliant  among  women." 
A  blissful  smile  suffused  itself  over  his  features.  But  suddenly 
this  smile  disappeared,  and  his  countenance  assumed  an  ex- 
pression of  care  and  anxiety.  At  this  moment  he  saw  how 
pale  his  mother  was.  Her  pallor  contrasted  strangely  with 
the  purple  lustre  of  the  goods  she  held  in  her  hands. 

"  You  are  not  ill,  Mother  Khadra  ;  you  are  not  suffering  ? '' 
said  he,  in  the  same  anxious  tone  in  which  he  had  so  often 
asked. 

"No,  my  son,  I  am  not  ill,"  said  she,  regarding  him  calmly. 


THE   STORY-TELLER.  37 

"  When  I  shall  some  day  wear  this  beautiful  dress,  and  this 
gold-embroidered  veil,  you  will  take  delight  in  me.  Thank 
you,  child  of  my  heart,  light  of  my  eyes  !  Thank  you  for 
this  splendid  present !  I  will  hold  it  in  honor  while  life 
lasts." 

''  I  thank  you  for  accepting  it,  and  beg  you  not  to  be  angry 
with  me  for  having  been  so  violent,"  said  Mohammed,  eii- 
treatingly,  as  he  kissed  his  mother's  extended  hand.  "  Tell 
me  once  more,  mother,  are  you  well  ;  do  you  feel  no  pain  ? " 

"I  feel  well,  and  am  not  suffering,"  said  she,  regarding 
him  lovingly.  ''  I  should  gladly  see  you  indulge  yourself  in 
one  of  your  walks  to  the  cliffs  or  mountains.  It  is  long  since 
you  have  taken  one.  I  feel  better  than  usual.  I  shall  go  to 
your  sick  uncle  to  wait  on  him,  and  when  I  return  I  shall  lie 
down.  You  need  not  fear  that  I  am  waiting  for  you.  Go  to 
the  mountains,  beloved  of  my  heart !  " 

"  I  shall  do  so  gladly,"  he  cried,  embracing  and  kissing  her 
heartily.  He  then  walked  with  hasty  steps  to  the  door  of  the 
hut,  and  out  into  the  free  air. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  STORY-TELLER. 

"  I  HAVE  done  work  enough  to  day."  murmured  Moham- 
med to  himself,  as,  after  having  left  his  mother,  he  walked 
through  the  dirty  suburb  to  the  stairway  hewn  in  the  rock 
that  led  down  to  the  cliffs.  "  Yes,  I  have  worked  enough,  and 
mother  is  well ;  I  will  therefore  go  to  my  paradise,  and  rest 
there  awhile." 

He  sprang  down  the  stairway  and  walked  hastily  toward 
the  cliffs.  After  looking  cautiously  around,  he  crept  through 
the  narrow  opening  in  the  rocks  into  the  passage.  The  silence 
did  him  good,  and  a  happy  smile  played  about  his  lips.  ''  Here 
I  am  king,"  he  cried,  loudly  and  joyously.  "This  is  my 
realm,  and  I  shall  soon  enter  my  throne-chamber.  How  have 
I  longed  for  this  !  how  glad  am  I  ! "  Suddenly  he  stood  still. 


38  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  What  were  Mother  Khadra's  words  ? "  he  asked  himself. 
"'  Only  he  who  practises  self-denial  can  enjoy.'  Have  I  not 
always  said  to  myself  that  I  would  accustom  myself  to  want, 
and  learn  to  enjoy  by  denying  myself  that  which  pleases  me  ? 
Haye  I  not  said  that  I  would  not  walk  on  rose-leaves,  but  learn 
to  tread  on  thorns,  that  my  feet  might  become  inured  to 
pain  ?  And  now,  like  a  foolish  child,  I  am  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  entering  my  cave,  my  throne-chamber  !  '  Only 
he  who  practises  self-denial  can  enjoy.'  Remember  that,  Mo- 
hammed, and  learn  to  practise  self-denial ;  I  will  learn  it ! " 
he  cried  so  loudly  that  his  voice  resounded  throughout  the 
entire  cave. 

He  turned  and  retraced  his  steps.  "  I  would  gladly  have 
gone  into  my  cave,  would  gladly  have  reclined  on  my  mat, 
have  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky,  and  down  into  the  beautiful 
sea,  that  tells  me  such  wondrous  stories.  Folly  !  I  can  hear 
stories  elsewhere.  Scha-er  Mehsed  tells  stories,  too,  and  on 
the  whole  that  is  more  convenient  than  to  tell  them  to  my-i 
self." 

He  walks  on  hastily,  without  turning  once  to  look  back  at 
his  beloved  grotto,  walks  on  into  the  world,  to  men  whom  he 
does  not  love,  and  who  do  not  love  him. 

He  will  learn  to  practise  self-denial,  and  joyfully  he  now 
says  to  himself :  "  I  am  already  learning  it,  and  now  I  can 
also  enjoy." 

At  this  moment  he  observed  Tschorbadji  Hassan,  who  had 
just  turned  a  corner  of  the  street,  advancing,  followed  by  his 
servants. 

When  he  perceived  the  boy,  he  stood  still  and  greeted  him 
with  a  gracious  smile.  Mohammed,  his  arms  folded  on  his 
breast,  inclined  his  head  profoundly  before  the  mighty 
man. 

'' See,  Mohammed  !  The  splendid  shot!  You  come  at  the 
right  moment,  Mohammed  ;  I  had  already  sent  out  a  slave 
after  you.  Osman,  my  poor  sick  son,  craves  a  strange  repast. 
He  has  seen  pigeons  whirling  through  the  air,  and  thinks, 
probably,  because  he  knows  they  are  not  easily  to  be  had,  that 
there  can  be  nothing  better  in  the  world  than  a  roasted  wild- 
pigeon.  Now,  I  know,  Mohammed  Ali,  that  no  one  can  use  a 


THE   STORY-TELLER.  39 

gun  better  than  yourself,  and  it  would  give  me  great  satisfac- 
tion to  have  you  procure  some  of  these  birds  for  my  son." 

"  I  will  do  it  gladly,  because  it  is  for  Osman,"  replied  Mo- 
hammed. "  I  will  bring  them  myself,  within  the  hour.  I  beg 
you,  gracious  master,  to  tell  your  son  that  I  am  glad  to  be  able 
to  do  something  for  him.  I  must  be  off  after  my  gun." 

Mohammed  withdraws  himself  with  a  total  absence  of  cere- 
mony, not  waiting  until  Tschorbadji  Hassan  Bey  dismisses 
him  with  a  gracious  wave  of  the  hand.  He  flies  to  his 
mother's  hut,  takes  down  his  gun  from  the  wall,  and  loads  it. 
He  then  climbs  rapidly  among  the  cliffs  in  search  of  the  wild- 
pigeons  for  the  poor  sick  Osman. 

In  an  hour,  Mohammed  returned  with  his  game.  As  he 
walked  along,  carrying  the  four  birds  in  his  hand,  he  said  to 
himself  with  a  smile  :  ''  Was  it  not  well  that  I  learned  to  deny 
myself  a  pleasure  ?  And  here  I  have  the  recompense,  the  en- 
joyment. For  it  is  a  recompense  to  be  able  to  gratify  a  wish 
of  dear  good  Osman  ;  he  was  always  so  kind  to  me." 

He  now  entered  the  court-yard  of  the  palace  in  which 
Tschorbadji  Hassan  Bey  resided.  An  Armenian  slave  stood 
at  the  gate,  who  seemed  to  have  been  awaiting  the  boys.  He 
bowed  profoundly,  which  he  had  never  done  before,  and  an- 
nounced that  his  grace  Osman  Bey  was  in  the  garden,  and  had 
ordered  that  Mohammed  Ali  should  bring  the  pigeons  himself, 
and  that  Tschorbadji  Hassan  was  also  there  awaiting  him. 

"  Show  me  the  way.  I  will  follow,"  said  Mohammed,  whose 
tranquil  countenance  gave  no  indication  that  he  felt  flattered 
at  the  great  honor  of  being  admitted  to  the  garden. 

The  Armenian  led  the  way  with  an  air  of  profound  respect. 
Proudly,  his  head  erect,  Mohammed  followed  him  through  the 
wide  hall  of  the  palace  and  into  the  garden. 

The  fragrance  arising  from  the  carefully-cultivated  flower- 
beds was  delightful  ;  the  kiosks  and  baldachins  were  so 
charming  !  "  Paradise  must  be  like  this,"  thought  Mohammed, 
and  he  breathed  the  fragrant  air  with  delight.  But  he  turned 
his  head  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  that  no  one  might 
observe  how  wondrously  beautiful  everything  seemed  to  him, 
and  that  he  had  never  before  seen  any  thing  so  magnificent. 

There,  under  the  beautiful  tent  with  the  golden  tassels,  and 


40  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

the  gold-glittering  star — there,  on  a  couch,  reclined  a  pale, 
thin  boy,  and  at  his  side,  on  a  chair  richly  embroidered,  sat 
Tschorbadji  Hassan. 

As  Mohammed  now  advanced  with  elastic  step,  his  head 
erect,  the  two  looked  at  him  in  admiration. 

"  How  splendid  he  looks ! "  murmured  the  pale  boy. 
"  That  is  health,  father,  and  life.  He  is  just  my  age,  and  only 
look  at  me  ! " 

The  tschorbadji  suppressed  a  sigh,  and  smiled  gently  as  he 
looked  at  his  son.  "  You  are  ill,  my  Osman.  Allah  will 
grant  you  speedy  recovery,  and  then  you  will  become  strong 
and  healthy  like  Mohammed  Ali. — Well!1'  he  cried  to  the 
boy  who  had  stood  still  at  some  distance  with  his  birds  in  his 
hand—"  well,  I  see  you  have  kept  your  word,  and  brought  my 
son  the  wild-pigeons." 

"  I  have,  and  am  glad  that  I  was  able  to  do  so."  replied  Mo- 
hammed, as  he  now  came  nearer  in  obedience  to  the  bey's  re 
quest,  and  greeted  the  pale  boy  with  a  joyous  smile. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  Mohammed,"  said  the  young  bey, 
who  had  partially  risen  from  his  cushions,  and  was  supporting 
himself  on  his  elbow.  Timidly,  Mohammed  took  the  boy's 
pale,  thin  hand  in  bis  own. 

"  Tell  me,  Mohammed,  why  do  you  not  come  to  see  me 
oftener  ?  You  know  how  glad  I  always  am  to  see  you." 

"  Master,  I  did  not  visit  you,  because  it  does  not  become  the 
poor  to  intrude  upon  the  rich  and  noble,"  replied  Mohammed, 
his  eyes  fixed  with  an  anxious  expression  on  Osman's  pale 
face. 

"  Rich  and  noble  ! "  repeated  Osman,  with  a  sigh.  "  You 
are  rich,  Mohammed,  for  you  are  healthy.  You  are  noble, 
Mohammed,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  sea  and  of  the  air  must 
obey  you.  You  have  power,  and  that  is  nobility." 

The  tschorbadji  was  displeased  with  these  humble  words  of 
his  son,  and  his  brow  became  clouded. 

"  I  think  you  should  be  content  with  your  riches  and  no- 
bility, my  son,"  said  he. — "  Come,  hand  me  the  pigeons,  Mo- 
hammed." 

He  took  the  beautifully  feathered  birds  from  Mohammed's 
hand,  looked  at  them,  and  let  their  feathers  play  in  the  sun- 


THE   STORY-TELLER.  41 

light.  "Yes,  they  are  still  warm  ;  so  the  world  goes.  An 
hour  since  they  disported  themselves  in  life's  sunshine.  The 
child  of  man  comes,  sends  a  few  shot  through  their  bodies,  and 
their  glory  is  at  an  end.  But,  I  thank  you,  Mohammed,  for 
having  so  quickly  complied  with  our  wish.  Here  is  your  re- 
ward." He  took  two  gold-pieces  from  his  purse  and  handed 
them  to  the  boy  in  his  outstretched  hand. 

Mohammed  did  not  take  them.  He  drew  back  at  the  words 
of  the  governor,  a  deep  color  suffusing  itself  over  his  cheeks. 

Osman  perceived  this,  and  motioned  to  him  to  come  nearer 
to  his  couch.  "  Mohammed,"  said  he,  "  father  forgot  to  add 
for  what  purpose  he  wished  to  give  you  the  money.  Not  for 
yourself.  I  know  that  your  procuring  these  pigeons  for  me 
was  an  act  of  friendship.  You  have  always  been  friendly  to 
me,  and  I  shall  never  forget  what  you  did  for  me  the  other 
day.'' 

"  What  was  it  ? "  asked  the  tschorbadji,  with  surprise. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  it,  father.  I  did  not  mention  it  to 
you  because  I  feared  it  might  make  you  angry,"  replied  Osman, 
gently.  "  I  had  had  myself  carried  out  on  the  rock.  You 
know  I  like  to  rest  there,  in  the  sunlight,  under  the  olive-tree 
that  stretches  out  its  limbs  over  the  water.  From  that  point 
you  can  look  so  far  out  over  the  sea.  There  you  can  see 
where  heaven  and  earth  unite,  and  strange  dreams  and  wishes 
come  over  me  there.  The  sea  murmurs  at  my  feet  in  such 
wondrous,  mysterious  tones,  that  my  heart  warms  and  my 
breast  expands.  The  physician,  too,  had  said  .that  I  should 
breathe  the  fresh  air  of  the  cliffs  very  often,  and  I  had  been 
carried  out,  and  lay  there  at  rest  in  sweet,  solitary  silence.  I 
did  not  observe  that  the  sky  was  darkening,  and  a  storm  com- 
ing,on.  It  also  escaped  the  notice  of  the.  two  servants  who 
had  carried  me  out  in  the  chair.  Now  that  the  rain  already 
began  to  fall  in  large  drops,  they  became  alarmed,  and  both  ran 
away  rapidly  to  procure  a  covered  palanquin,  as  the  physician 
had  said  I  must  be  carefully  guarded  against  taking  cold. 
They  had  hardly  gone  and  left  me  alone  when  it  began  to 
rain  harder,  and  I  felt  the  large  drops  slowly  trickling  down 
upon  me  through  the  leaves  of  the  olive-tree.  The  rain  was 
very  cold.  The  storm  raged  and  tore  the  protecting  foliage  of 
4 


42  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

the  tree  apart.  Suddenly  I  heard  footsteps.  It  was  Mohammed 
All.  He  was  rapidly  passing  by,  but  when  he  saw  me  lying 
there  under  the  tree,  alone,  he  came  up  to  me,  and  understood 
the  situation  at  a  glance.  In  spite  of  my  resistance,  he  spread 
his  body  over  me,  and  protected  me  from  the  rain  and  dis- 
comfort. 

"  When  the  servants  arrived  with  the  palanquin  I  had  re- 
mained perfectly  dry,  while  Mohammed  was  wet  to  the  skin. 
I  begged  him  to  come  with  me.  I  begged  him  to  accept  a  gift. 
He  refused  both,  and  cried,  laughing,  as  he  ran  away  to  escape 
my  further  thanks  :  '  For  me  it  was  only  a  welcome  bath  ! 
You  it  would  have  hurt,  Osman.'" 

'*  Good,  by  Allah  !  That  was  well  done,"  said  the  tschor- 
badji,  with  his  aristocratic  smile.  "  You  served  my  son  as  an 
umbrella.  I  thank  you  for  it,  Mohammed,  and  will  reward 
you.  A  new  mantle  shall  be  brought  you,  for  I  perceive  that 
your  own  is  torn  and  old." 

"I  thank  you,  master.  It  is  good  enough  for  me.  This 
mantle  is  an  inheritance  from  my  father.  Mother  preserved 
it  for  ten  years,  and  now  I  wear  it,  and  wear  it  with  pride,  as 
a  souvenir  of  my  father.  Thanks  for  your  kind  offer." 

"Then  take  the  money."  said  the  tschorbadji.  "You  see  I 
still  hold  it  in  my  hand." 

"  Thanks,  master,  I  have  no  need  of  the  money." 

"  You  must  take  it,  Mohammed,"  said  Osman,  gently.  "  As 
I  told  you  before,  father  has  forgotten  to  add  for  what  pur- 
pose he  gives  ii.  You  are  to  go  and  hear  the  new  scha-er,  the 
story-teller.  Do  you  know  him  already  ? " 

"  No,  Osman,  I  do  not.     What  of  this  scha-er  ? " 

"I  have  heard  him  much  spoken  of,"  replied  Osman, 
gently.  "  He  is  a  rival  of  the  old  scha-er,  Mehsed.  You  know 
the  oid  one  always  sits  in  the  middle  of  the  market-place,  on 
a  stone,  and  tells  the  people  stories  of  the  olden  time,  and  of 
the  magnificence  of  the  Turkish  Empire.  Now  a  new  story- 
teller has  come,  from  Constantinople  it  is  said,  and  people  say 
his  stories  are  very  beautiful.  But  he  does  not  seat  himself 
on  a  stone  in  the  middle  of  the  market,  but  in  the  wide  hall  of 
a  store.  There  he  has  hired  a  corner,  and  there  he  sits. 
Around  himself,  as  far  as  his  voice  reaches,  he  has  fastened  a 


THE   STORY-TELLER.  43 

rope  to  stakes,  and  whoever  wishes  to  enter  the  circle  thus 
formed  must  pay  to  hear  his  stories.  I  should  like  to  do  so, 
too,  and  have  often  entreated  my  father  to  allow  me,  but  they 
say  it  would  excite  me  too  much,  and  that  the  air  of  the  hall 
would  be  too  close  for  me.  Therefore,  Mohammed,  I  beg  you 
to  go  there  for  me,  listen  to  the  stories,  and  then  come  and 
repeat  them  to  me.  You  see  it  was  for  this  purpose  father 
gave  you  the  money. — Is  it  not  so,  father  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  hoy,  it  shall  be  so  if  you  desire  it.  I  give  him 
the  money  that  he  may  hear  the  new  scha-er,  and  if  it  enter- 
tains and  pleases  you,  Mohammed  shall  come  to  you  and  relate 
what  he  has  heard." 

"  Will  you  afford  me  this  pleasure,  Mohammed  ?  1  am  not 
strong  and  healthy  like  you  ;  I  cannot  climb  the  rocks  like 
you  ;  cannot  sit  on  the  clitt's  and  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  sea 
and  the  storm  ;  cannot,  like  you,  enjoy  the  delight  of  taking 
exercise  in  the  open  air  !  Here  I  lie  on  my  bed,  and  all  that 
is  good  and  beautiful  must  come  to  me,  if  I  am  to  enjoy  it. 
Then  come  to  me,  Mohammed  Ali ! " 

With  a  kindly  look,  he  again  held  out  his  pale,  attenuated 
hand,  and  Mohammed  felt  that  warm  tears  were  trickling 
down  his  cheeks,  and  that  somehow  he  could  not  speak  while 
the  pale  handsome  boy  was  looking  at  him  so  entreatingly. 
He  took  Osman's  hand  and  pressed  U  heartily  in  his  own. 

"  I  accept  the  money  from  Tschorbadji  Hassan,"  said  he,  in 
low,  soft  tones.  "  I  shall  go  and  listen  to  the  new  scha-er,  and, 
if  you  wish,  Osman,  I  shall  come  to-morrow,  and  every  day, 
to  relate  to  you  what  I  have  heard  ;  and  it  will  please  me  if  it 
gives  you  pleasure." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mohammed,  and  beg  you  to  come  to-morrow 
ready  to  relate  to  me. — Give  me  the  money,  father,"  said  he, 
addressing  his  father,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  I  will  give  it  to 
Mohammed  for  the  scha-er." 

He  took  the  money,  and  Mohammed  willingly  accepted  it 
from  him,  and  thanked  him. 

"  I  will  go  to  the  scha-er  at  once,  for  this  is  his  hour,  I  be- 
lieve." 

He  bowed  hastily  and  slightly  hefore  the  tschorbadji,  but 
profoundly  and  reverentially  before  the  poor  pale  boy,  and  rap- 


44  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

idly  walked  back  toward  the  gate,  thinking  not  of  the  beauti- 
ful flowers  that  surrounded  him,  rejoicing  only  at  being  able 
to  do  something  for  Osman  Bey,  and  rejoicing,  too,  at  the 
prospect  of  listening  to  the  scha-er. 

It  was  just  the  hour  at  which  the  new  scha-er,  the  rival  of 
old  Mehsed,  began  to  relate  his  stories  in  the  hall.  With  an 
earnest,  respectful  air,  the  men  and  boys  sat  around  in  the 
wide  circle  on  their  mats,  and  listened,  slowly  moving  their 
bodies  to  and  fro,  to  what  the  scha-er  was  relating. 

Mohammed  noiselessly  entered  the  circle,  and  seating  him- 
self as  close  as  he  could  in  front  of  the  scha-er,  listened  in 
breathless  attention  to  the  loud,  resonant  voice  that  told  of  the 
glories  of  the  past : 

"  I  have  not  come  to  tell  you  of  the  fatherland  to-day,  not 
of  Turkish  might  and  grandeur.  Your  humble  servant  has 
been  proclaiming  to  you  their  wonders  for  the  last  few  days," 
said  he.  "To-day  I  have  turned  my  gaze  toward  distant 
worlds  and  kingdoms.  I  am  about  to  tell  you  of  the  prov- 
inces converted  into  parts  of  our  realm  by  the  power  of  the 
sultan.  Have  you  heard  of  the  land  that  lies  over  there  be- 
yond the  sea — the  land  of  the  Egyptians  ?  Great  is  the  his- 
tory of  this  people,  and  from  it  we  can  learn  that  Allah  alone 
is  great,  and  that,  next  to  him,  and  next  to  the  prophet,  noth- 
ing is  so  great  as  our  emperor  and  master,  our  Sultan  Selim, 
at  Stamboul,  on  his  imperishable  throne.  I  told  you  yester- 
day of  the  origin  of  the  kingdom  of  Egypt,  and  of  the  strug- 
gles carried  on  by  barbarian  hordes  against  each  other.  I 
then  went  on  to  tell  you  of  the  caliphs  of  Bagdad,  how  they 
had  ruled  in  Egypt,  and  how  they,  too,  were  overthrown  in 
their  magnificence.  Now  listen.  Egypt  was  lost  to  the 
caliphs  of  Bagdad  ;  after  long  struggles  their  rule  was  at  an 
end  forever.  A  fortunate  soldier,  named  Tokid,  possessed 
himself  of  the  rich  and  fertile  kingdom  that  lies  beyond  the 
ocean.  He  held  the  reins  of  government  with  a  strong  hand, 
and  an  army  of  four  hundred  thousand  men  spread  themselves 
over  the  whole  land,  like  a  swarm  of  hornets  and  grasshoppers, 
and  held  the  trembling  people  in  subjection.  But  he  died, 
and  a  black  slave  named  Kafour,  took  the  sceptre  from  the 
bands  of  the  dying  man,  and  said,  '  He  gave  it  to  me  as  to  his 


THE  STORY-TELLER.  45 

successor.'  And  the  four  hundred  thousand  hornets  and 
grasshoppers  repeated  these  words,  and  the  nation  bowed  its 
head  and  submitted  to  the  rule  of  this  black  man. 

"  But  one  man  had  the  courage  to  defy  this  slave.  He  was 
a  descendant  of  the  house  of  Ali,  which  could  boast  of  being 
the  house  of  the  great  prophet. 

"Mahadi  Obeidallah  was  the  name  of  this  grandson  of 
Ali.  He  was  strong  and  mighty  before  Allah,  and  he  held  in 
his  strong  hand  the  green  flag  of  the  prophet,  of  his  ancestor, 
an  heir-loom  in  his  family,  as  he  landed  from  his  ships  with 
his  troops,  at  Alexandria,  the  great  city  that  lies  on  the  shore 
of  Africa,  and  belongs  to  the  realm  of  Egypt. 

"  Nothing  could  resist  the  descendant  of  the  prophet,  and 
Mahadi  Obeidallah  erected  his  throne  in  Alexandria.  The 
conquest  of  Egypt,  begun  by  him,  was  finished  by  his  grand- 
son, Moez.  He  brought  a  hundred  thousand  men,  commanded 
by  his  vizier  Jauhar,  to  Alexandria,  and  marched  with  them 
through  the  desert  toward  the  great  city  of  Fostal,  which 
Caliph  Amrou  had  built. 

"  Near  this  great  city,  Jauhar  founded  another  with  splen- 
did walls  and  palaces,  and  he  called  it  El-Kahera — that  is,  the 
'Victorious.'  Proudly,  victoriously,  beside  the  old  city  of  Fos- 
tal, arose  the  new  city  of  El-Kahera,  the  wondrous  city  !  Moez 
sat  enthroned  there  in  the  midst  of  his  realm,  and  he  founded 
in  El-Kahera,  the  Victorious,  the  dynasty  of  the  Fatimite 
caliphs  ;  for  Fatima,  the  daughter  of  the  prophet  Mohammed, 
had  married  Ali,  who  was  the  head  of  the  house  from  which 
Moez  and  Jauhar  descended. 

"  The  new  city,  El-Kahera  arose  quickly,  aud  soon  became 
the  model  for  all  that  was  beautiful  in  the  arts  and  sciences  in 
Egypt.  The  haughty  Bagdad,  once  so  mighty,  sank  into  the 
dust  before  her. 

"  But  the  Fatimites  were  neither  wiser  nor  more  fortunate 
than  the  Abbassites,  of  whom  I  told  you  yesterday,  had  been. 
The  people  could  not  love  them,  for  the  Fatimites  ruled 
tyranically,  and  knew  nothing  of  pity  and  love  ;  and  the  re- 
ligion of  the  prophet,  which  teaches  that  we  should  love  and 
do  good  to  our  fellow-men,  they  practised  with  their  tongues 
only,  but  not  in  reality.  They  thought  it  sufficient  to  be  able 


46  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

to  call  themselves  descendants  of  the  great  prophet,  without 
imitating  him  in  his  good  works. 

"  At  last  one  of  them  even  dared  to  proclaim  himself  the 
prophet.  His  name  was  Hakem.  To  him  it  did  not  seem 
enough  to  be  the  descendant  of  Mohammed,  of  our  great  proph- 
et— he  wished  to  be  king  and  prophet  himself.  He  desired  to 
found  a  new  religion,  and,  because  the  inhabitants  of  El-Ka- 
hera  would  not  bow  down  before  him  in  the  dust,  and  aban- 
don their  prophet,  Mohammed,  for  his  sake,  he  caused  the  one 
half  of  the  beautiful  city  of  El-Kahera,  the  Victorious,  to  be 
laid  in  ashes,  and  he  allowed  his  wild  hordes  to  plunder  and 
rob  the  other  half.  He  rejoiced  in  this,  and  imagined  Allah 
would  be  contented.  He  said,  too,  that  Allah  conversed  with 
him  each  day,  and  gave  him  instructions  with  his  own  lips. 
It  was  for  this  purpose  that  he  went  daily  into  the  mountains 
of  Mokatan,  which  rise  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  near  the  city  ; 
and  there  he,  a  second  Moses,  communed,  as  he  declared,  with 
Allah. 

"  But  one  day  he  did  not  return  from  the  mountains,  and 
when  his  janizaries  sought  him  they  found  him  lying  dead  on 
the  ground,  pierced  with  daggers. 

u  The  Fatimites  had  ruled  over  Egypt  for  two  hundred 
years.  Their  glory  was  now  at  an  end,  and  Allah  sent  the 
unbelievers  as  a  scourge  to  punish  those  who  had  dared  to  set 
themselves  above  the  prophet,  to  punish  the  sons  of  Hakem 
who  had  declared  himself  to  be  the  prophet. 

"  The  unbelievers,  who  called  themselves  Christians,  came, 
therefore,  with  a  cross  on  their  arms,  and  a  cross  on  their  ban- 
ners, conquered  El-Kahera,  and  levied  a  tribute  of  many  mil- 
lions of  piasters.  But  the  Caliph  Addad,  a  son  of  Hakem, 
called  to  his  assistance  Noureddin,  the  ruler  of  the  land 
of  Alep,  who  sent  him  a  powerful  army,  and  the  army 
of  the  Christian  dogs  was  scattered  like  dust  before  the 
winds. 

"  Yet  Addad  reaped  no  blessing  from  the  assistance  thus 
called  to  his  side — the  son  was  to  be  punished  for  the  misdeeds 
and  tyranny  of  his  father  Hakem.  A  strong  and  mighty  man 
had  come  with  Noureddin's  army  ;  he  made  himself  Addad's 
vizier,  their  commander-in-chief,  and  Addad  died  of  mortifl- 


THE   MAMELUKES.  47 

cation.  Saladin  the  son  of  Ayoub,  assumed  his  place,  and 
became  the  ruler  of  Egypt,  and  founded  the  dynasty  of  the 
Ayoubites." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  MAMELUKES. 

THE  scha-er  paused  a  moment,  and  directed  a  glance  of  his 
wild  black  eyes  at  the  audience  surrounding  him.  The  men 
regarded  him  with  profound  gravity,  and  nodded  their  heads 
in  approval,  and  requested  him  to  proceed. 

Rejoicing  at  his  success,  he  continued  in  a  loud  voice : 
u  But  the  rule  of  the  Ayoubites  did  not  last  long  ;  it  was  even 
more  brief  than  that  of  the  Fatimites. 

"  The  reign  of  the  ten  sultans  distinguished  the  short  and 
glorious  history  of  their  house,  which,  above  all,  loved  show 
and  splendor.  The  palaces  of  these  proud  rulers  of  El-Kahera 
were  crowded  with  servants  and  slaves. 

"  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  Mogul,  Genghis  Khan,  assem- 
bled all  the  Tartar  hordes  of  his  land  under  his  banner.  They 
followed  him  to  the  banks  of  the  Tigris,  and  nothing  but  ter- 
ror and  desolation,  ashes  and  bones,  were  found  where  they 
had  passed.  Burning  and  destroying,  they  marched  to  the 
banks  of  the  Caspian  Sea.  Lamentations  followed,  and 
numberless  corpses  encumbered  the  track  of  his  army.  At 
last,  weary  of  their  bloody  work,  the  Mongols  stopped  to  rest 
in  beautiful  Ch'cassia. 

"  Here  they  purchased  slaves  for  their  masters.  One  Ayou- 
bite  alone  purchased  twelve  thousand  young  men  :  with  them 
he  repaired  to  Asia  Minor,  where  he  dressed  them  in  rich,  glit- 
tering garments,  and  called  them  his  Mamelukes,  that  is, 
'  those  he  had  acquired  and  paid  for. '  And  now,  listen,  ye 
men  of  Cavalla,  in  this  manner  there  arose  in  history  a  new 
tribe,  a  new  race,  and  it  gave  itself  the  name  of  Mamelukes. 
Even  the  sultan  formed  for  his  service  a  corps  out  of  their 
race  ;  they  became  mighty  and  valiant,  increased  from  genera- 
tion to  generation,  and  before  them  rulers  trembled.  Yes, 
even  the  Sultan  at  Stamboul  feared  their  might. 


48  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"  The  Mamelukes,  however,  dethroned  the  last  Ayoubite, 
the  one  who  had  purchased  them.  The  Mamelukes  van- 
quished all  the  Christian  dogs  who  came  to  the  holy  land  to 
fight  for  what  they  call  the  holy  grave.  They  murdered  the 
last  sultan.  They  then  placed  on  the  throne  one  of  their  own 
race,  a  Mameluke.  And  observe,  ye  men  of  Cavalla,  with  this 
begins  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  this  land  :  the  Mamelukes 
mount  the  throne,  and  make  themselves  masters  of  Egypt. 

"But  upon  this  fearful  deed,  follow  disorder,  revolt,  terror, 
blood,  and  death  !  I  could  tell  you  much  more  of  the  atroci- 
ties done  by  the  Mamelukes,  unheard  of  as  yet  by  any  of  you, 
and  such  as  the  history  of  no  other  land  can  exhibit.  I  could 
relate  to  you  the  histories  of  all  the  other  nations  of  the  world, 
but  if  ye  listened,  ye  men  of  Cavalla,  to  the  history  of  the 
Mamelukes  of  the  last  century,  the  events  of  all  the  other 
lands  of  the  world  would  sound  to  you,  compared  with  the 
deeds  that  have  been  done  in  the  land  of  the  Egyptians  since 
the  year  620,  after  the  birth  of  the  great  prophet  Mohammed, 
like  nursery-tales.  On  the  grave  of  the  prophet  sat,  her  fea- 
tures shrouded  in  a  bloody  veil,  the  holy  spirit  of  the  history 
of  the  world,  sadly  recording  the  atrocious  deeds  of  the  cruel, 
implacable  forty-seven  tyrants  who  reigned  on  the  bloody 
throne  of  El-Kahera  during  two  hundred  and  sixty-three  years. 
Seventeen  of  them  were  murdered,  and  eighteen  of  their  suc- 
cessors dethroned.  The  rule  of  each  lasting  but  a  few  moons. 
The  tyrant  was  always  hurled  down  by  the  tyrant. 

"  One  would  have  supposed  that  the  Mamelukes  would  have 
shown  more  love  and  reverence  for  the  princes  of  their  own 
race  than  for  foreign  rulers,  but  the  reverse  was  the  case. 
The  Mamelukes  believed  that  they  were  under  no  obligation 
to  respect  a  prince  of  their  own  race  more  than  themselves. 
They  raised  their  hands  threateningly  against  every  one 
who  dared  to  consider  himself  something  better  than  they. 
They  considered  themselves  the  advisers  of  the  princes  of  their 
own  race,  and  without  their  approval,  these  princes  could  un- 
dertake nothing  whatever.  And  worse  than  this  ambition, 
were  the  machinations  and  plundering  of  the  intriguing  men 
who  surrounded  the  throne  of  the  Mamelukes.  Even  Allah's 
wrath  was  aroused  by  this  corruption,  and  the  prophet  grew 


THE   MAMELUKES.  49 

angry.  Allah  punished  them  for  their  horrid  deeds,  and  sent 
down  famine,  pestilence,  and  misery,  upon  the  degraded  land. 
The  people  lay  in  dust  and  ashes.  In  their  despair  they 
wrung  their  hands,  and  implored  Allah  to  rescue  them  from 
this  misery  and  torment. 

"  At  last,  after  two  and  a  half  centuries,  Allah  sent  them 
relief  through  the  Ottomans. 

"  They  could  not  be  worse  than  the  Mamelukes  ;  for  noth- 
ing on  earth  could  be  worse  ;  the  dagger  was  the  only  law  of 
these  slaves,  who  called  nothing  their  own,  and  had  neither 
family  ties,  fatherland,  nor  religion. 

"  Had  they  not  come  from  Circassia  ?  Had  they  not  been 
purchased  as  slaves  and  brought  to  Egypt  ?  Had  they  not 
been  Christians,  and  were  they  not  of  Christian  descent  ?  But 
they  had  been  forced,  the  slaves,  to  assume  the  holy  religion 
of  Mohammed.  The  prophet,  however,  does  not  incline  his  ear 
to  enforced  service.  He  who  does  not  willingly  lay  down  his 
faith  and  fidelity  upon  the  altar  can  expect  no  blessing  from 
Allah.  The  Mamelukes  learned  little,  except  to  read  the  Koran, 
to  handle  the  sword,  to  ride,  and  to  be  pitiless  against  everybody. 
They  also  learned  to  flatter  the  master  who  had  purchased 
them,  to  bow  down  in  the  dust  before  him,  and  to  be  nothing 
for  him  but  a  mere  tool  that  has  ho  honor,  no  thought,  and  no 
sensibility  of  its  own.  When  the  Mamelukes  were  fully  ma- 
tured, had  become  expert  in  using  their  swords,  and  managing 
their  steeds,  and  when  their  chins  became  covered  with  beard, 
the  masters  who  had  bought  them  made  them  freemen,  and 
gave  them  the  rank  and  title  of  a  kachef,  an  officer  who  was 
to  lead  and  command  the  others.  The  kachef  was  the  lieuten- 
ant of  those  who  had  not  become  free.  They  gave  him  a  sal- 
ary, or  made  him  a  confidant  or  assistant.  When  he  got  thus 
far,  had  become  free,  and  been  made  a  kachef,  a  career  of  am- 
bition, but  also  of  intrigue,  trickery,  and  treason,  opened  itself 
before  him.  His  shrewdness  was  irresistible,  his  strong  arm 
accomplished  all  things. 

"  The  kachef  did  homage  to  his  first  master  only,  but,  if 
the  latter  were  dead,  and  the  Mameluke  had  become  a  freeman, 
he  could  attain  to  the  throne  through  blood  and  murder. 
All  the  vices,  with  their  interminable  train,  had  made  their 


50  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

entrance  into  El-Kahera.  The  new  ruler  well  understood 
how  to  acquire  riches,  power,  and  respect,  by  force,  and  from  a 
kachef  he  made  himself  bey.  From  the  proceeds  of  his  booty 
he  purchased  a  swarm  of  slaves,  who  were  compelled  to  follow 
him.  He  was  only  a  military  power.  The  Mameluke  princes 
measured  his  rank  and  influence  by  the  number  of  followers 
in  his  train  when  he  passed  through  the  streets  of  Alexandria. 
There  were  kachefs  who  owned  a  thousand  slaves,  and  beys 
who  possessed  two  thousand.  By  this  you  can  judge  the 
wealth  of  these  Mameluke  beys,  for  each  of  these  servants  cost 
them  two  hundred  patras.  But  this  expense  was  the  smallest. 
There  were,  besides,  the  women,  the  beautiful  Arabian  horses, 
the  splendid  weapons,  the  Damascene  blades,  the  glittering 
jewels,  the  costly  cashmere  shawls  :  all  this  belonged  to  the 
household  of  a  Mameluke  bey.  The  means  by  which  he  ac- 
quired all  this  were  robbery,  trickery,  blood,  and  murder. 
Whatever  was  bad  and  vicious,  corrupt  and  shameful,  this  the 
Mameluke  practised  without  fear  or  hesitation.  His  virtue 
was  that  intrepidity,  that  courage,  that  boldness,  that  recoils 
from  nothing,  from  no  danger,  from  no  abyss  ;  that  yields  to 
nothing,  and  to  which  nothing  is  sacred.  But  the  slaves'will- 
ingly  submitted  to  a  brave  master,  and  greeted  him  as  a  hero. 

"  They  galloped  through  the  streets  on  their  proud  steeds, 
despising  those  who  walked.  When  drawn  up  before  the 
enemy  on  their  war-horses,  they  bore  down  upon  them  boldly, 
and  scattered  them  to  the  winds.  But  if  the  enemy  were  able 
to  resist  the  force  of  their  first  fierce  attack,  they  turned  their 
horses  and  galloped  away  in  wild  flight. 

*'  Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  two  hundred  years  ago 
the  Ottomans  marched  with  large  armies  into  Egypt,  to  com- 
bat and  vanquish  the  haughty  Mamelukes. 

"  And  now  the  time  selected  by  Allah  to  punish  the  inso- 
lent race  of  the  Mamelukes  and  their  rulers  who  were  seated 
on  the  throne  of  Egypt  had  come. 

"  The  nations  one  by  one  submitted  to  the  rule  of  these 
sons  of  Mohammed.  After  protracted  struggles  they  had  es- 
tablished a  united  empire  on  the  banks  of  the  Bosporus,  and 
had  built  the  proud  city  of  Stamboul.  The  son  of  Moham- 
med governed  as  an  illustrious  ruler,  until  at  last  the  Christian 


THE  MAMELUKES.  51 

dogs  came  and  conquered  the  magnificent  city,  and  took  up 
their  abode  in  the  shining  palaces  built  be  the  last  emperors 
of  the  house  of  the  Comnenes.  In  the  city  of  Constanti- 
nople, as  they  have  named  our  beautiful  Stamboul,  they  re- 
sided. A  glittering  throne  was  erected  there  ;  but  the  green 
flag  of  the  prophet  no  longer  fluttered  from  the  minarets 
of  the  mosque,  which  they  called  the  '  Church  of  the  holy 
Sophia.' 

"  When  the  great  Selim  I.  heard  of  the  deeds  of  the  Mame- 
lukes, his  zeal  and  his  love  for  the  prophet  impelled  him  to 
restore  his  holy  kingdom,  and  he  marched  with  a  mighty 
army  into  Egypt,  to  punish  the  wicked  who  were  in  arms 
against  the  prophet.  He  marched  through  Armenia,  Meso- 
potamia, and  Syria,  into  Egypt.  Terror  and  lamentation  were 
in  his  train ;  before  him  nations  bowed  down  in  the  dust. 
He  advanced  victoriously,  made  himself  master  of  Aleppo, 
and  marched  on  to  storm  the  sacred  El-Kahera,  which  they 
now  call  Cairo.  The  Mamelukes  defended  themselves  long 
and  desperately,  until  they  at  last  succumbed  to  superior  num- 
bers. 

"  But  tranquillity  was  not  yet  restored  to  Egypt ;  the  Mame- 
luke prince,  Tournan  Bey,  stole  into  the  city  at  midnight,  and 
with  his  Mamelukes  murdered  the  entire  Turkish  garrison. 
Filled  with  wrath  the  great  Selim  returned  and  laid  siege  to 
the  city.  It  held  out  for  thirteen  days  and  nights,  but  after 
fierce  struggles  was  at  last  compelled  to  yield.  Selim  punished 
them  terribly  ;  they  were  all  made  prisoners,  and  Tournan  was 
hanged  in  the  midst  of  the  city.  Seliru  entered  the  city  as  its 
conqueror  and  ruler. 

"  You  will  suppose  that  Egypt  now  at  last  became  tranquil 
and  that  the  Mamelukes  bowed  down  submissively  before  the 
great  sultan,  before  the  green  flag  of  the  prophet  that  floated 
in  triumph  from  the  citadel.  So  it  would  have  been,  had  not 
those  Mamelukes  who  had  survived  the  fearful  slaughter  done 
among  their  ranks,  brooded  on  vengeance.  But  I  tell  you,  so 
long  as  there  shall  be  one  Mameluke  left  in  the  world,  so  long 
will  he  do  battle  with  his  sword  ;  he  is  not  to  be  vanquished, 
unless  indeed  he  be  trodden  under  foot  as  a  venomous  ser- 
pent, and  destroyed  forever. 


52  MOHAMMED  ALI  AXD   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  The  noble  Selim  had  magnanimously  omitted  to  do  this. 
He  allowed  the  Mamelukes  to  take  the  oath  of  fidelity,  suppos- 
ing they  would  keep  it.  He  then  made  all  Egypt  a  province 
of  the  Turkish  Empire,  and  returned  to  the  hanks  of  the  Bos- 
porus. He  came  home,  a  victorious  hero,  covered  with 
honor,  and  the  whole  empire  received  him  with  exultation, 
and  peace  and  happiness  returned  with  him  to  Stamboul. 
Over  in  Egypt,  however,  things  were  no  longer  looking  so 
peaceful,  although  the  noble  Selim  had  been  so  generous  to 
the  Mamelukes  that  he  had  not  only  given  them  their  lives, 
but  also  accorded  them  a  portion  of  their  former  power.  He 
had  desired  to  have  two  powers  in  the  government  that  should 
watch  each  other,  and  therefore  the  great  and  wise  ruler 
ordered  that  twenty-four  Mameluke  officials  should  be  ap- 
pointed to  share  the  government  with  his  own  Turkish  offi- 
cials. In  the  same  manner  as  the  sultan  appoints  a  pacha,  or 
governor,  had  the  Mamelukes  also  appointed  a  chief.  This 
chief  was  called  Sheik-el-Belad,  and  his  power  was  equal  to 
that  of  the  pacha.  He  had  seven  adjutants,  the  odjaJclis,  who 
commanded  the  seven  corps  of  which  the  Mameluke  army 
consisted.  And,  I  say  to  you,  the  Mamelukes  were  more  pow- 
erful in  El-Kahera  than  are  the  pachas  in  Turkish  cities.  Their 
strifes  and  feuds  were  such,  that  those  were  among  the  unhap- 
piest  of  Egypt's  days. 

"And  now,  hearken  to  the  dreadful  conclusion.  I  will 
narrate  to  you  what  has  taken  place  in  Egypt  in  this  century. 
The  Mamelukes  overthrew  the  rule  of  the  Turkish  grand- 
sultan,  under  the  leadership  of  the  bloodthirsty  Ali,  the  new 
bey  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Mamelukes.  He  drove  out 
the  sultan's  pacha,  and  announced  through  him  to  Selim, 
'  that  the  Turkish  rule  was  at  an  end.  and  that  Egypt  was 
again  free,  he  having  driven  out  the  Turks  with  the  edge  of 
the  sword.'  And  Egypt,  the  rebellious  province,  was  for  a 
time  again  free  ;  that  is  to  say,  enslaved  by  the  Mameluke 
Bey  Ali,  who  attempted  to  extend  his  power  further  and  fur- 
ther. He  sought  to  form  alliances  even  with  the  enemies  of 
Selim,  even  with  those  who  did  not  believe  in  the  holy  prophet. 
He  even  sought,  with  flattery  and  entreaties,  to  prevail  on  the 
grandees  of  the  republic  of  Venice  to  furnish  him  with  assist- 


THE   MAMELUKES.  53 

ance  against  the  aggressions  of  the  Turks.    He  drew  his  sword    I 
and  drove  our  armies  even  unto  Mecca  in  Arabia,  possessed 
himself  of  the  holy  city  of  Mecca,  and  even  carried  his  hold- 
ness  so  far  that  he  caused  himself  to  be  proclaimed  Grand- 
Sultan  of  Arabia,  and  ruler  of  the  two  seas. 

"Yet  the  eye  of  Allah  beholds  the  unjust,  and  punishes  the 
wicked  ;  and  I  will  now  give  you  the  very  latest  intelligence 
I  have  received  from  the  holy  city.  May  it  fill  your  heart 
and  soul  with  joyous  gratitude  for  the  justice  of  Allah  !  Yes, 
Allah  punishes  the  insolent.  And  by  the  hand  of  his  favorite, 
of  Mohammed  Abou-Dahab,  in  whom  the  Grand-Sultan  Ali 
confided,  was  he  laid  low.  This  slave  Mohammed  murdered 
his  master,  and  seated  himself  in  his  place.  But  him,  too,  did 
Allah  punish  as  a  wrong-doer  and  criminal.  Allah  punished 
the  treason  which  Mohammed  bad  practised  on  his  master  by 
afflicting  him  with  madness.  Day  and  night  he  beheld  before 
him  Ali's  terrible  bloody  shade  ;  in  horrible  dreams  he  saw 
the  countenance  of  his  murdered  master,  and  at  last,  amid  fear- 
ful torments,  he  slew  himself. 

"  Do  you  suppose  peace  had  now  at  last  come  ?  Do  you 
•suppose  that  Egypt  now  submitted  to  her  rightful  ruler,  the 
Grand-Sultan  of  Stamboul  ?  Ye  men  of  Cavalla,  hardly  was 
Egypt  released  from  the  tyrant  Ali,  when  three  other  Mame- 
luke beys  advanced  to  seize  the  vacant  throne. 

"Mourad,  Ibrahim,  and  Ismail,  competed  for  the  prize. 
Each  of  them  aspired  to  be  the  ruler  of  Egypt — each  of  them 
aspired  to  be  called  Scheik-el-Belad. 

"  Mourad  and  Ibrahim  united  themselves  to  rule  together 
in  brotherly  love.  They  united  their  forces  against  Ismail, 
and  they  pi-evailed  against  him — he  was  overthrown  and 
murdered,  extinguished  like  a  light  that  has  shone  but  a  brief 
day. 

"  And  now,  hearken  to  the  end,  ye  men  of  Cavalla.  Tho 
Mameluke  beys,  Mourad  and  Ibrahim,  have  entered  the 
golden  city  of  El-Kahera,  and  have  become  great  and  mighty. 
They  have  conquered  the  grand-sultan,  have  possessed  them- 
selves of  all  the  lands,  brought  all  the  Mamelukes  into  sub- 
jection, and  have  not  rested  until  all  Egypt  has  been  subju- 
gated. 


54  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  And  now  you  know,  men  of  Cavalla,  that  the  sons  of  the 
slaves,  that  Mourad  and  Ibrahim,  rule  in  the  holy  city  El- 
Kahera,  and  in  all  Egypt.  Proudly  do  these  Mameluke  princes 
hold  up  their  heads.  From  slaves  they  have  become  heroes, 
and  from  heroes  they  have  become  princes." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

DREAMS  OF  THE  FUTURE. 

IN  breathless  attention,  utterly  oblivious  of  all  else,  Mo- 
hammed had  listened  to  the  words  of  the  scha-er  ;  and  long 
after  he  had  concluded,  and  the  audience  begun  to  disperse, 
he  still  sat,  his  eyes  widely  extended,  and  gazing  fixedly  at  the 
cushion  on  which  the  sha-er  had  sat,  as  though  he  were  still 
there,  relating  the  deeds  and  wonders  of  the  Mamelukes. 
Suddenly  the  silence  that  surrounded  him  aroused  him  from 
his  preoccupation.  He  arose  and  walked  slowly  out,  still 
hearing  the  voice  that  related  such  wondrous  stories  of  dis- 
tant lands.  Thoughtfully  he  wandered  on  toward  the 
rocky  pathway.  He  had  forgotten  all  else  :  the  mother  on 
whose  account  he  had  been  so  anxious,  the  boys  whom  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  regarding  so  contemptuously  when  he  met 
them,  and  whom  he  now  scarcely  sees  as  they  pass  by  ;  the 
cave,  too,  his  paradise,  is  forgotten.  He  would  no  longer  de- 
sire to  return  to  this  dark,  dreary  solitude. 

Upward,  upward  to  the  highest  point  of  the  rock,  to  which 
the  name  "  The  Ear  of  Bucephalus "  had  been  given  !  He 
climbs  the  rocky  ascent  like  a  gazelle.  Thither  no  one  will 
follow  him  ;  there  the  eye  of  the  prophet  alone  will  see,  and 
the  ear  of  Allah  alone  hear  him.  Up  there  he  will  be  alone 
with  God  and  his  dreams. 

Now  he  is  on  the  summit,  gazing  far  out  into  the  sea,  into 
the  infinite  distance  where  heaven  and  sea  unite  and  become 
one.  He  stretches  out  his  arms  and  utters  a  cry  of  exultation 
that  resounds  through  the  mountains  like  the  scream  of  the 
eagle  : 


DREAMS   OF   THE   FUTURE.  55 

"  Thither  will  I,  to  the  land  of  promise  and  of  fortune  ! — to 
the  land  where  slaves  become  heroes,  and  heroes  princes  ! 
Mother,  your  dream  shall  he  realized  !  There  I  shall  find 
palaces  on  whose  summit  I  shall  stand  with  uplifted  sword, 
nations  at  my  feet.  To  Egypt  will  I  go.  To  the  land  of 
grandeur  and  glory,  where  for  thousands  of  years  the  great- 
est and  mightiest  have  made  of  themselves  princes  and  rulers. 
I  will  become  mighty  ;  I  will  cultivate  my  mind,  that  it 
may  help  me  to  rule  men.  Then  I  will  make  of  myself 
a  prince  before  whom  all  other  princes  shall  fall  in  the 
dust ! " 

He  shouts  again  exultingly,  and  the  walls  of  the  cliffs  echo 
back  his  cry.  He  feels  so  happy,  so  free  from  all  earthly  care. 
He  seems  to  float  in  upper  air  like  the  eagle,  looking  down 
upon  the  lowliness  of  earth  beneath. 

As  he  looks  out  into  the  distance,  he  sees  a  little  dark  spot 
rise  on  the  horizon.  His  eagle-eye  perceives  that  it  is  a  ship. 
As  it  comes  nearer,  it  dances  on  the  waves,  and  its  white  sails 
expand  like  the  wings  of  a  giant  swan.  It  is  a  beautiful,  ma- 
jestic object.  The  young  Mohammed  rejoices  at  the  spectacle, 
and  says,  in  low  tones,  to  himself  ;  u  Some  day  I  shall  possess 
ships,  too.  Some  day  I  shall  tread  the  deck  of  the  great  ad- 
miral's ship." 

The  ship  glides  over  the  glittering  mirror  of  the  deep,  and 
comes  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  curious  are  now  assembled 
on  the  shore  to  gaze  at  it ;  for  rarely  do  vessels  seek  the  rocky 
promontory  of  Bucephalus  to  land  in  the  bay  of  Contessa. 
The  peninsula  is  desolate  and  barren,  and  there  is  nothing 
here  for  merchant-ships  but  the  tobacco  for  which  this  region 
is  celebrated.  A  Turkish  galleon  comes  semi-annually  for  the 
taxes  which  the  governor  has  levied,  to  bring  them  to  Stam- 
boul  to  the  coffers  of  the  grand-sultan. 

But  the  vessel  now  approaching  is  no  Turkish  galleon,  but 
a  magnificent  ship  ;  and  one  can  see  on  the  deck,  under  the 
gold-embroidered  tent,  a  Turk  reclining  on  cushions.  Slaves 
in  rich  attire  are  on  their  knees  before  him,  others  are  be- 
hind him  fanning  the  flies  away  with  fans  made  of  peacock- 
feathers. 

"  Who  can  this  great  man,  this  stranger  be  ? "  ask  the  curi- 


56  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

ous,  who  are  standing  on  the  beach,  gazing  fixedly  at  the  ship 
that  has  now  entered  the  little  bay,  and  is  steering  toward  the 
landing. 

Mohammed  has  also  hurried  down  to  the  beach.  To-day, 
while  his  heart  and  mind  are  filled  with  the  narrative  of  the 
scha-er,  to-day  every  thing  seems  to  him  so  strange,  so  wonder- 
ful ;  it  seems  to  him  that  he  is  about  to  receive  intelligence 
from  the  woi'ld  his  whole  being  longs  for  so  intensely,  the 
world  that  is  one  day  to  lie  at  his  feet. 

The  ship  has  entered  the  bay,  and  a  boat  containing  three 
Turkish  gentlemen  is  coming  from  it  to  the  shore.  They 
haughtily  step  ashore,  and  pass  by,  without  saluting  the 
crowd,  to  the  pathway  that  leads  up  to  Cavalla.  But  the 
grand-looking  Turk  is  still  on  deck,  reclining  on  his  cushions  ; 
the  slaves  are  still  about,  filling  and  refilling  his  long  chi- 
bouque, on  whose  golden  mouth-piece  brilliants  are  seen  glit- 
tering. 

Mohammed's  keen  eyes  observe  all  this,  and  he  follows 
each  movement  of  the  aristocratic  Turk  with  breathless  atten- 
tion. Thus,  he  thinks,  will  he  also  do  some  day  ;  thus  will  he, 
too,  recline  on  his  silken  cushions,  surrounded  by  his  slaves — 
he,  the  prince  ! 

How  would  those  who  were  standing  around  the  boy  have 
laughed  if  they  could  have  divined  Mohammed's  thoughts,  if 
they  had  known  that  he  was  dreaming-  of  his  future  magnifi- 
cence while  standing  there  on  the  beach  in  his  wide  cotton 
pants,  tied  at  the  bottom  around  his  ankles  with  strings,  his 
feet  thrust  into  a  pair  of  peaked  shoes  of  doubtful  color,  a 
faded  red  shawl  bound  around  his  waist,  on  his  body  a  well- 
worn  brown  shirt,  the  whole  crowned  with  the  red  tarbush 
that  covered  his  dark  hair,  around  which  was  wound  a  white 
and  not  particularly  clean  Tcuffei  \ 

Who  could  have  imagined  that  this  poor  Turkish  child  was 
dreaming  of  future  glory,  and  saying  to  himself,  as  he  regarded 
the  grand  gentleman  on  the  deck  of  the  ship  :  *'  I  will  one  day 
be  as  you  are.  and  even  greater  than  you  ! " 

The  governor,  accompanied  by  the  strange  Turks,  and  fol- 
lowed by  servants  carrying  palanquins,  was  now  observed 
coming  down  the  pathway  from  Cavalla.  Hastily  he  walks 


DREAMS   OF   THE   FUTURE.  57 

to  the  beach,  and,  with  the  Turks,  enters  the  boat  and  steers 
for  the  ship. 

The  governor  has  now  reached  the  ship  and  climbed  to  the 
deck,  but  the  grand  gentleman  does  not  stir  from  his  cushions, 
and  only  greets  him  with  a  gracious  nod.  The  people  on  the 
beach  observe  this  with  astonishment,  and  ask  each  other  : 
"  Who  can  this  be  ?  Tschorbadji  Hassan  is  the  greatest  man 
on  our  peninsula,  and  every  head  bows  down  before  him.  And 
this  gentleman  dares  to  salute  him  with  a  mere  nod.  Truly 
he  must  be  a  very  great  man  ! " 

Mohammed  regards  the  people  who  are  speaking  contemp- 
tuously, and  murmurs  to  himself  :  "  I  shall  be  a  greater  man 
some  day.  He  is  no  prince,  else  his  ship  would  show  the  ad- 
miral's flag,  and  the  governor  would  fall  on  his  face  before 
him.  The  scha-er  told  me  that  such  is  the  custom  in  the  pres- 
ence of  princes.  But  the  people  shall  one  day  prostrate  them- 
selves on  their  faces  before  me  !" 

At  last  the  grand  gentleman  arises  slowly  from  his  cush- 
ions, and  lays  his  arm  on  the  shoulder  of  the  governor,  who 
walks  at  his  side,  his  head  bowed  down,  and  seemingly  de- 
lighted at  being  permitted  to  bear  this  burden  on  his  shoulder. 

They  walk  to  the  stairway  ;  the  governor  busies  himself  in 
helping  the  stranger  to  descend,  jumps  into  the  boat,  and  ex- 
tends his  hand  to  assist  him  to  enter.  He  tranquilly  receives 
these  attentions  ;  the  slaves  follow,  and  lay  gold-embroidered 
cushions  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and  the  grand  gentleman 
reclines  on  them  in  an  easy  attitude.  The  governor  stands 
before  him.  addressing  him  with  an  air  of  profound  reverence, 
and  the  slaves  take  up  their  position  behind  him.  and  waft  re- 
freshing breezes  to  him  with  their  fans.  As  the  boat  reaches 
the  beach,  the  governor  turns  and  addresses  the  people  in  im- 
perious tones  : 

"Bow  down  in  the  dust  before  the  grand-vizier— before 
Cousrouf  Pacha  !  Salute  his  excellency  ! " 

All  fall  on  their  knees,  and  remain  there  in  mute  reverence, 
while  the  pacha,  accompanied  by  the  governor,  and  followed 
by  his  slaves,  ascends  the  pathway  to  Cavalla. 

One  person  only  had  not  fallen  down  on  his  knees,  and 
that  person  was  Mohammed  Ali. 
5 


58  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

He  had  secreted  himself  behind  a  rock,  and  there  he  stands, 
regarding  the  pacha  with  eager  eyes,  and  glancing  contemptu- 
ously at  those  who,  at  other  times  so  noisy  and  arrogant,  are 
now  howed  down  in  the  dust,  and  who  have  as  yet  not  even 
ventured  to  raise  their  heads. 

But  now  the  scene  on  the  shore  becomes  an  animated  one. 
The  governor  has  ordered  that  other  boats  be  sent  out  to  the 
ship,  and  a  peculiar  and  wondrous  sight  presents  itself  on 
board. 

White  female  figures,  closely  enveloped  in  long  white  veils, 
appear  on  deck.  Tall  men,  with  black  faces  and  fat  bodies, 
stand  at  their  side.  The  sailors  have  disappeared  from  the 
deck  ;  no  one  is  now  visible  but  the  white  female  figures  and 
the  fat  black  men. 

"  That  is  the  harem  of  the  grand-vizier,"  the  people  now 
whisper  to  each  other,  "  and  those  men  at  their  side  are  the 
eunuchs." 

Two  of  these  eunuchs  now  come  to  the  shore,  and,  in 
threatening  tones,  order  the  men  to  leave  the  beach  at  once, 
and  to  go  up  to  Ca valla  to  announce  there  that  no  one  shall 
allow  himself  to  be  seen  in  the  streets. 

The  men  hurriedly  ascend  the  pathway  to  the  city,  without 
even  venturing  to  look  back  at  the  pacha's  harem. 

Mohammed  Ali  alone  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  has 
crouched  down  behind  the  rocks,  and  no  one  sees  the  fiery 
eyes  that  peer  out  cautiously  from  his  hiding-place. 

The  women,  looking  like  white  swans,  are  now  rowed  to 
the  shore. 

The  beach  is  bare — no  one  sees  them.  They  can  venture  to 
open  their  veils  a  little,  and  look  about  them  on  this  strange 
shore. 

Oh  !  what  glowing  eyes,  what  purple  lips,  are  disclosed  to 
the  boy's  sight !  For  the  first  time,  his  heart  beats  stormily  ; 
for  the  first  time,  he  feels  a  strange  delight  in  his  soul.  Yes — 
beautiful  are  these  women,  as  are  the  houris  in  paradise,  and 
enviable  is  he  to  whom  they  belong. 

Two  of  the  eunuchs  walk  before  the  women,  four  walk  be- 
side them,  and  imperiously  command  them  to  draw  their  veils 
closer  together.  They  approach  several  of  them  with  pro- 


DREAMS   OF   THE   FUTURE.  59 

found  respect,  and  extend  their  hands  to  assist  them  in  enter- 
ing the  palanquins  that  stand  ready  to  receive  them  ;  the 
others  must  go  on  foot. 

Loudly  resounds  the  cry  of  the  eunuchs  who  walk  in  ad- 
vance :  "  The  harem — the  harem  of  his  excellency  !  Away,  ye 
men  !  The  harem  ! " 

At  this  cry  all  flee  to  their  houses  in  the  city  above,  and 
none  are  to  be  seen  in  the  deserted  streets  but  the  ladies  of  the 
harem  that  are  being  borne  along  in  palanquins,  and  the  train 
of  veiled  figures  behind  them. 

The  procession  moves  on  to  the  governor's  house,  where  a 
strange  scene  presents  itself.  Servants  are  standing  about  in 
gold-embroidered  garments ;  all  is  confusion  and  motion. 
His  excellency  the  pacha  condescends  to  take  up  his  abode  in 
the  governor's  palace,  and  the  upper  saloons  are  being  opened 
and  prepared  for  the  distinguished  guest.  Adjoining  the  main 
building,  a  side  building,  with  barred  windows,  extends  far 
out  into  the  garden.  Until  now  it  had  stood  empty,  for  the 
governor  cares  not  for  the  society  of  women  ;  his  heart  is  cold 
toward  them  ;  he  loves  nothing  but  his  son.  The  harem  is 
empty,  and  is  therefore  ready  to  receive  the  women  and  slaves 
of  his  excellency  Cousrouf  Pacha.  The  shutters  of  the  win- 
dows have  long  stood  open — the  eunuchs  now  come  forward 
and  fasten  them  securely.  The  vast  building  has  now  become 
quite  still. 

Mohammed  had  watched  the  procession  until  the  last  white 
swan  had  disappeared  upon  the  plateau  above.  He  now 
slipped  out  of  his  hiding-place,  and  walked  down  to  the  beach 
to  look  at  the  ship.  He  had  not  observed  that  other  boats  had 
put  off  from  the  ship  to  fend  more  passengers. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  the  destination  of  this  proud  and 
beautiful  ship.  I  should  like  to  sail  with  it,"  murmured  the 
boy. 

"  Then  do  so  ! "  cried  a  loud  voice  behind  him.  "  If  you 
wish  to,  my  lad,  come  with  us.  One  leads  a  splendid  life  on 
such  a  ship.  You  are  tall  and  strong,  and  will  be  gladly  ac- 
cepted." 

His  countenance  beaming  with  joy,  Mohammed  turned  and 
saw  at  his  side  a  boy  of  slender  figure,  in  simple  Turkish  gar- 


60  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

ments,  but  his  hair  was  closely  cut,  and  not  covered  with  the 
fez  and  kuffei.  Mohammed  glanced  fiercely  at  the  boy. 

"  You  are  a  slave  ! "  said  he. 

The  boy  nodded  and  laughed. 

"  I  am  a  slave.  But  I  don't  expect  to  remain  one  long  ;  I 
have  already  heard  that  the  capitano  intends  to  sell  me  over 
there,  and  there  one  can  make  his  fortune,  that  I  know  ! " 

"  Over  there  ? "  said  Mohammed,  eagerly.  "  What  do  you 
call  over  there  ? " 

"Well,  the  place  we  are  going  to!"  exclaimed  the  boy, 
laughing.  "To  Egypt  we  go,  carrying  rich  goods,  and  I  my- 
self, so  to  speak,  am  a  piece  of  goods  for  the  capitano." 

"  You  go  to  Egypt  ? "  asked  Mohammed  ;  "  to  the  land  of 
wonders,  where  slaves  become  heroes,  and  heroes  princes  ? " 

"  Ah  !  you  have  heard  it  spoken  of,  too  ! "  said  the  boy, 
laughing.  "  Yes,  the  scha  ers  everywhere  have  something  to 
relate  about  Egypt.  In  Stamboul  I  have  often  heard  them 
tell  of  the  Mamelukes,  too  ! " 

';  Of  the  Mamelukes  ?    Of  them,  too,  you  have  heard  ? " 

"  I  have  not  only  heard  of  them,  but  I  intend  to  make  a 
Mameluke  of  myself.  As  you  know,  these  Mamelukes  are  the 
slaves  of  the  beys  in  Egypt.  I  hope  to  have  the  good  fortune 
to  be  purchased  by  a  bey.  I  know  all  that  is  necessary  to  be- 
come the  servant  of  a  Mameluke." 

"And  what  is  necessary?"  asked  Mohammed,  eagerly. 
"  What  is  it  that  you  know  ? " 

"I  can  ride  as  well  as  the  best  of  the  horsemen  of  the 
grand-vizier.  On  a  bare  horse  I  can  fly  over  the  plains  with 
the  speed  of  a  bird.  I  know  how  to  handle  the  sword  and  the 
spear,  and  in  the  fastest  gallop  I  can  sever  the  head  of  a  horse 
from  his  body.  These  are  arts  that  are  useful  over  there,  and 
in  them  I  am  a  master.  You  may  look  at  me  in  astonishment 
if  you  will  !  I  am  not  as  tall  and  stout  as  you  are,  but  I  can 
tell  you  I  have  the  strength  of  a  giant,  and,  in  spite  of  my 
fourteen  years,  I  am  a  man.  I  expect  to  make  my  fortune  in 
Egypt." 

"  And  where  have  you  been  until  now  ?  From  what  place 
do  you  come  ? " 

"  I  have  been  a  slave  from  my  youth  ;  I  was  well  brought 


DREAMS   OF  THE  FUTURE.  Ql 

up  and  had  an  education  ;  I  know  how  to  wait  on  fine  gentle- 
men. I  served  a  nobleman  as  first  valet  for  three  years,  but 
couldn't  stand  the  dull,  effeminate  life.  I  longed  to  be  out  in 
the  world,  and  committed  all  sorts  of  freaks  in  order  that  my 
master  might  drive  me  off.  To  be  sure,  I  received  the  basti- 
nado daily,  but  I  stood  it  like  a  man.  I  determined  to  continue 
to  annoy  my  gracious  master  until  he  should  sell  me.  Look 
at  my  feet ! " 

He  took  off  his  shoes  and  showed  Mohammed  the  scarred 
soles  of  his  feet. 

•  'k  These  are  the  scars  with  which  I  have  purchased  my  fu- 
ture. Yes  ;  but  why  do  you  look  at  me  in  such  astonishment  ? 
By  Allah  !  I  should  not  like  to  live  on  this  rock  here,  like 
you  !  I  must  out  into  the  world  ;  must  go  to  Egypt,  and  make 
something  great  of  myself." 

"But  how  will  you  begin  it?"  asked  Mohammed.  "I 
should  like  to  do  so,  too." 

"  I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  the  boy,  carelessly  ;  "  it  will  de- 
pend upon  how  I  succeed  in  recommending  myself  to  a  bey 
with  my  horsemanship  and  sword.  One  thing  I  can  tell  you, 
if  I  once  become  a  Mameluke,  I  shall  rise.  In  case  you  should 
hear  of  me  some  day,  in  case  my  celebrity  should  reach  even 
this  desolate  rock,  I  will  tell  you  my  name.  My  name  is  Os- 
man,  and  in  mockery,  because  I  served  a  nobleman,  they  added 
bey  to  it.  But  I  tell  you,  I  will  make  of  the  name  given  me 
in  derision  a  real  title  !  If  you  hear  of  me  some  day,  I  shall  be 
called  Osman  Bey  in  earnest." 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  name,  too,"  said  Mohammed,  proudly, 
"  and  if  you  ever  hear  of  me,  you  shall  know  that  you  once 
met  me  here  upon  the  beach.  My  name  is  Mohammed  Ali, 
and  I  am  Ibrahim  Aga's  son.  I  am  a  freeman,  you  must  know, 
and  have  never  bowed  my  head  beneath  the  yoke  of  another  ! 
Kemember  my  name,  little  Osman,  and,  if  Allah  wills  it,  you 
shall  hear  of  me  some  day.  My  name  is  Mohammed  Ali." 

He  nodded  to  the  boy  contemptuously,  and  walked  off. 

Osman  laughed,  and  cried  after  him  : 

u  You  will  probably  hear  of  me  first,  you  bold  boy,  you 
beggar-prince  !  I  shall  probably  never  hear  of  the  beggar- 
prince,  Mohammed  Ali,  son  of  Ibrahim  Aga,  but  of  me  you 


62  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

shall  hear,  you  silly  lad  !  Don't  forget  my  name  :  I  am  called 
Osman  Bey." 

If  they  both  could  now  have  known  the  future  !  If  a 
prophet  had  permitted  the  two  boys  who  met  here  for  the  first 
time,  in  order  that  they  might  angrily  impress  their  names  on 
each  other's  memory,  to  look  into  the  future,  what  would  they 
have  seen  in  its  mirror  ? 

Two  heroes  opposed  to  each  other  in  ardent  love,  and  in  wild 
enmity.  Both  equally  great,  equally  ambitious,  and  equally 
greedy  of  glory.  They  would  have  seen  blood  flowing  in 
streams  for  their  sake.  They  would  have  seen  how  Osman 
Bey,  called  by  the  name  of  Bardissi,  dashed  onward,  nourish- 
ing his  cimeter  at  the  head  of  thousands  of  devoted  followers. 
They  would  have  seen  Mohammed  Ali  in  a  glittering  uniform, 
mounted  on  his  proud  steed,  at  the  head  of  thousands  charg- 
with  uplifted  sword  against  Bardissi. 

Here  on  a  rock  in  the  bay  of  San  Marmora,  the  boys  met 
for  the  first  time,  and  instinct  permitted  them  to  feel  the  en- 
mity that  existed  between  them  throughout  their  entire  lives, 
and  which  caused  thousands  to  fall,  and  blood  to  flow  in 
streams. 

They  know  nothing  of  this  now.  Osman  whistles  a  merry 
air  and  jumps  into  the  boat  that  bears  him  back  to  the  ship. 
Mohammed  Ali  ascends  the  rock  to  a  quiet  and  solitary  spot. 
There  he  will  rest  and  meditate  on  what  he  has  seen  and  heard 
to-day. 

The  ship  sails  out  to  sea.  Like  a  giant  swan,  proudly,  ma- 
jestically, it  glides  over  the  blue  waves,  until  at  last  it  rises  up 
in  the  distance  with  its  masts  and  spars  against  the  horizon, 
faintly,  like  a  mere  vision  of  the  air. 

Above,  on  the  Ear  of  Bucephalus,  stands  Mohammed  Ali, 
leaning  on  his  gun,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ship.  He  sighs  pro- 
foundly as  it  now  disappears  without  leaving  the  slightest 
trace  behind,  as  though  engulfed  by  the  waters. 

*'  Gone,"  he  murmured — "  gone  !  What  was  the  name  of 
the  boy,  the  slave  who  so  defiantly  charged  me  to  remember 
his  name  ?  I  remember,  it  was  Osman.  Yes,  Osman  Bey,  he 
said.  Well,  he  may  depend  upon  it  I  shall  remember  his 
name,  and  he  may  also  count  on  remembering  that  my  name 


DREAMS   OF   THE   FUTUItE.  63 

is  Mohammed  All,  if  we  should  ever  meet  again.  Oh,  I  envy 
him,"  said  he,  in  low  tones,  looking  longingly  at  the  horizon. 
"  Oh,  I  would  so  gladly  have  gone  with  him  to  the  wondrous 
land  the  scha-er  told  of,  where  slaves  become  heroes,  and 
heroes  princes.  He,  the  slave,  goes  thither  ;  and  I,  who  am 
free,  am  bound  to  this  rock  by  my  poor  mother,  and  must  re- 
main !" 

The  ship  sailed  on  farther  an.d  farther  on  the  bright  waves. 
It  glided  onward  over  the  deep-blue  sea  two  days  longer  ;  on 
the  third  day  the  sailors  shouted  with  joy,  for  the  water  had 
become  green,  and  this  announced  to  the  experienced  seamen 
that  they  should  soon  see  land. 

When  the  waves  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea  change  from 
blue  to  green,  the  yellow  coast  of  Africa  is  near.  Another 
day  passed,  and  the  ship  entered  the  harbor  of  Alexandria. 
The  black  and  brown  people  came  out  to  the  ship,  howling 
and  yelling  in  their  little  boats,  and  with  them  came  the  slave- 
dealers  to  look  for  human  wares,  to  bargain  for  the  living  as 
well  as  for  the  dead  freight. 

The  captain  shows  the  slave-dealers  his  fine  piece  of  goods, 
the  boy  Osman  Bey,  and  offers  him  as  a  good  article  of  mer- 
chandise. ''  He  is  a  splendid  servant,  and  knows  how  to  color 
the  chibouque,  and  how  to  wait  on  his  master  with  soft  words." 

"  He  knows  more  than  that ! "  exclaimed  the  boy  Osman 
Bey,  indignantly.  "  He  knows  how  to  scour  across  the  desert 
on  his  steed  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and  loves  to  nourish  the 
cimeter  and  lay  the  heads  of  men  and  animals  at  his  feet  with 
a  single  blow." 

The  slave-dealer  regards  him  with  favorable  glances.  That 
is  what  he  needs.  The  great  Mameluke  prince  Mourad  needs 
many  servants  and  warriors,  and  he  gave  the  dealer  authority 
to  purchase  men  for  him,  young,  strong,  and  healthy  men. 
The  ranks  of  his  Mamelukes  need  recruiting.  He  will  make 
a  fine  Mameluke,  this  slender  young  man  with  the  keen,  glit- 
tering eyes. 

"  What  will  you  have  for  the  boy  ? " 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  He  is  really  beyond 
all  price  ;  for,  as  I  tell  you,  he  is  a  splendid  servant,  and,  as 
he  tells  you  himself,  he  is  a  fine  horseman,  and  knows  how  to 


64  MOHAMMED   ALI  AN!    HIS   HOUSE. 

wield  the  cimeter.  He  is  priceless,  and  I  hardly  think  we 
shall  come  to  terms." 

They  now  began  to  bargain  for  this  human  merchandise. 
They  made  a  great  deal  of  noise,  quarrelled,  and  shook  their 
fists  in  each  other's  faces,  while  young  Osman  Bey  stood  at 
their  side,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  calmly  looking  on 
and  smiling  at  the  uproar  created  on  his  account.  At  last  they 
came  to  terms.  The  dealer  received  his  living  goods,  young 
Osman  Bey,  and  paid  the  captain  the  price  agreed  upon. 

If  young  Mohammed  Ali  could  see  this  :  if  his  dark  brown 
eye  could  send  a  glance  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  across  the 
waves  and  through  the  days  and  nights  ;  and  if  he  could  hear 
how  the  slave,  Osman  Bey,  is  traded  off  for  sugar  and  coffee  ; 
if  he  could  see  Osman  standing  in  the  slave  market  awaiting 
a  purchaser ;  if  he  could  see  Mourad,  the  Mameluke  bey,  at 
last  approach,  smile  approvingly  on  young  Osman,  and  finally 
purchase  and  place  him  among  his  followers  ;  if  he  could 
have  seen  this  and  the  future,  he  would  have  felt  proud  and 
happy  in  being  a  free  man,  although  a  poor  one.  His  hands 
are  not  fettered,  he  serves  no  master,  and  he  cannot  be  bar- 
gained for  and  sold  like  a  bale  of  goods  !  He  is  a  free  human 
being,  conscious  of  his  own  worth,  and  also  conscious  of  the 
great  future  that  awaits  him. 

He  is  thinking  of  it  now  as  he  stands  on  the  rock  leaning 
on  his  gun,  and  staring  out  into  the  air  after  the  vanished 
ship.  He  does  not  see  the  future  ;  he  only  dreams  of  it  as  he 
looks  out  into  the  vacant  air,  oblivious  of  the  present.  Nor 
does  he  see  the  mother,  who,  while  he  stands  there,  is  hasten- 
ing painfully  and  breathlessly,  her  head  bowed  down,  from 
her  humble  hut  to  the  proud,  main  street  of  the  city,  to  the 
store  of  the  merchant  Lion. 

The  merchant  saw  her  coming,  met  her  at  the  door,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  her. 

"Is  it  you,  Sitta  Khadra?"  he  cried,  as  she  reached  the 
door.  "  I  must  tell  you  I  have  expected  you,  esteemed  lady, 
light  of  my  eyes  ! " 

She  tottered  into  the  hall  and  seated  herself  in  the  chair 
which  the  merchant  had  hastened  to  bring  her. 

"  Why  these  fine  phrases,  sir  ?    Talk  to  me  in  short  and 


DREAMS   OF   THE   FUTURE.  65 

terse  language,  as  you  Franks  are  accustomed  to  do,  and  pay 
no  attention  to  the  flowery  words  which,  with  us,  the  men 
are  inthe  habit  of  mocking  instead  of  flattering  us  poor  crea- 
tures." 

"I  am  not  mocking  you,  Sitta  Kbadra,"  said  the  merchant, 
gravely.  "  I  esteem  you,  for  you  are  a  good  woman,  and 
therefore  I  addressed  you*as  I  did.  I  know  you  well,  and  1 
know  what  you  have  there  hidden  under  your  veil." 

"  What  have  I  there,  sir  ? " 

'•  You  have  brought  me  back  the  gold-embroidered  goods, 
and  the  veil  bordered  with  golden  fringe,  which  your  son  Mo- 
hammed bought  for  you." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  have  brought  them  back.  They  do  not  be- 
come me.  I  did  not  like  to  tell  the  boy  so,  for  it  pleases  him 
to  think  I  will  array  myself  in  them.  I  therefore  accepted 
them,  hoping  you  would  take  them  back." 

"I  expected  you,  and  see,  I  have  the  money  ready  for  you. 
When  I  saw  you  coming,  I  took  it  quickly  from  my  purse. 
Here,  good  Sitta  Khadra,  are  the  six  ducats  which  Mohammed 
gave  me." 

She  shook  her  head  gently. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir,  and  I  thank  you.  Yet,  I  cannot 
accept  them.  Mohammed  would  scold  me  when  he  learned  it. 
He  told  me,  himself,  that  he  had  given  you  four  ducats  and 
not  six.  I  divined  that  you  had  given  him  the  goods  at  a 
cheaper  price,  and  that  he  could  not  have  paid  for  them  at 
their  real  value.  By  this  I  perceived  that  the  sale  was  only  a 
pretended  one,  and  have  hoped  you  would  take  back  the  goods. 
But  the  money  I  will  not  receive. " 

"  To  whom  shall  I  give  it,  then  ? "  asked  the  astonished 
merchant.  "  I  dare  not  offer  it  to  Mohammed  ;  I  believe  it 
would  make  him  so  angry  that  he  would  raise  his  hand 
against  me.  You  must  not  tell  bim,  Sitta  Khadra,  that  you 
have  brought  me  back  the  goods." 

"  You  are  right,  sir  ;  I  should  not  like  to  cause  him  this 
unhappiness.  I  shall  tell  him  I  have  taken  the  goods  to  the 
tailor  to  have  it  made  into  a  dress  by  the  next  Bairam's  fes- 
tival. But  when  the  festival  comes,  I  shall  no  longer  be  here, 
and  he  will  not  see  that  I  have  not  put  on  the  costly  dress." 


66  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  You  will  not  be  here,  Sitta  Khadra  ?  Then  where  will 
you  be  ? "  asked  the  merchant. 

She  slowly  raised  her  arm,  and  pointed  upward. 

''Up  there,  sir,  with  my  beloved  master,  Ibrahim  Aga  ;  I 
shall  see  the  glory  of  Allah,  and  shall  see  the  prophet,  the 
great  prophet  to  whom  my  heart-felt  prayers  so  often  ascend." 

"What  is  it  you  are  saying,  good  Sitta?  At  the  next 
Bairarn's  festival,  you  will  surely  still  be  with  us  on  earth." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  dying,  sir  !  I  have  been  dying  for  the  last  two  days  : 
look  at  my  lips." 

u  They  are  red  and  fresh,  and  show  that  you  are  in  health, 
Sitta  Khadra." 

"  Yes,  my  lips  are  red,  because  I  have  colored  them  with 
henna,  that  Mohammed  may  not  see  how  pale  they  are.  For 
him  I  have  colored  my  cheeks,  too.  Good  sir,  one  may  de- 
ceive out  of  love,  and  Allah  will  forgive  me  for  having  made 
my  face  a  lie  out  of  love  for  my  son.  I  tell  you  I  am  dying  ; 
therefore  have  I  come  to  bring  you  the  goods,  and  to  beg  you 
to  take  the  money  and  keep  it.  When  he  is  in  want  give  it  to 
him,  and  tell  him  Mother  Khadra  sends  it  with  her  best  bless- 
ing, and  that  he  must  accept  it  as  a  present  from  me,  and  make 
a  good  use  of  it.  I  know,  sir,  that  you  will  give  it  to  him,  and 
that  you  will  watch  over  him  that  you  may  know  when  he 
needs  it. 

"  And  one  thing  more  I  beg  of  you,  whenever  you  see  my 
beloved  son,  say  to  him  :  '  Mohammed  Ali,  your  mother 
Khadra,  loved  you  very  dearly,  and  sends  you  a  greeting  from 
Heaven,  through  me.  She  dwells,  above  with  your  father, 
Ibrahim  Aga,  and  both  are  looking  down  upon  you,  and  ob- 
serving your  actions.  Therefore  be  thoughtful,  Mohammed, 
to  walk  pure  and  free  in  the  sight  of  Allah  and  your  parents.' 
Promise  me,  that  you  will  often  say  this  to  my  son." 

"  I  promise,  Sitta  Khadra,"  said  the  merchant,  solemnly. 
"  I  promise  you  that  I  will  watch  over  your  dear  son,  and  that, 
if  it  is  in  my  power,  I  will  at  all  times  be  ready  to  lend  him  a 
helping  hand.  I  give  you  my  hand  to  seal  this  promise,  Sitta 
Khadra." 

She  took  his  hand,  and  the  merchant  knew  by  the  heat  of 


THE  FRIENDS.  67 

her  thin,  wan  fingers  that  a  burning  fever  was  in  her  blood, 
and  that  Death  had  kissed  her  lips. 

"  Now  all  is  well,"  said  she,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  with  a 
painful  effort.  "  Now  I  will  return  home,  that  my  darling, 
my  Mohammed,  may  find  me  when  he  comes.  I  have  but  a 
few  more  days  to  live,  and  I  would  not  lose  a  moment  that  1 
can  spend  with  him.  Farewell !  Allah  be  with  you  ! " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  FRIENDS. 

IN  the  house  of  the  governor  every  thing  was  changed 
since  the  day  on  which  the  grand-vizier  had  taken  up  his 
abode  in  the  upper  saloons.  Young  Osman,  the  son  of  the 
tschorbadji,  experienced  this  change  with  great  displeasure. 

Since  the  stranger's  harem  had  been  installed  in  the  side- 
building,  whose  windows  open  on  the  garden,  the  governors 
son  can  no  longer  walk  freely  in  all  parts  of  the  beautiful 
park  and  enjoy  its  solitude  without  fear  of  interruption.  By 
far  the  greater  portion  of  the  park  has  been  set  apart  for  the 
use  of  the  harem,  and  only  a  small  portion  adjoining  the  court- 
yard is  reserved  for  him. 

"  And  yet  fresh  air  and  the  sunshine  are  my  only  enjoy- 
ments." said  he,  complainingly,  to  Mohammed  Ali,  who  had 
come  the  next  day,  according  to  promise,  to  repeat  to  young 
Osman  what  the  scha-er  had  spoken,  to  narrate  to  him  the 
wondrous  stories  of  the  Mamelukes. 

He  lay  reclining  on  a  mat  in  front  of  young  Osman's  couch, 
and  in  excited  words,  with  glowing  eyes,  he  told  the  heroic 
stories  of  the  proudest  people  of  Egypt. 

Osman's  large  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face  in  an  earnest 
gaze,  and  a  slight  color  tinged  his  pale  cheeks  as  he  listened. 

"  Beautiful,  is  it  not  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  as  he  finished 
his  narrative.  "  Would  not  you,  too,  like  to  go  to  the  land 
where,  as  the  scha-er  says,  slaves  become  heroes,  and  heroes 
princes  ? " 


(58  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

Osman  shook  his  head  gently. 

"I  do  not  know,  Mohammed.  I  should  be  contented,  I 
think,  to  remain  here,  reclining  on  my  cushions,  the  sun 
above  me,  and  you  at  my  side." 

•'  But  what  I  have  related  is  beautiful,  is  it  not  ? '' 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Osman,  for  the  second  time.  *'  I 
regarded  you  while  you  were  speaking,  and  I  rejoiced  in  you. 
It  seems  to  me,  Mohammed,  as  though  you  were  the  better 
part  of  myself.  I  feel  as  you  feel,  and  think  as  you  think, 
and  rejoice  when  I  hear  you  utter  in  fresh  and  glowing  words 
that  which  my  lips  can  utter  with  timidity  and  hesitation 
only.  If  I  were  healthy,  Mohammed,  I  should  be,  I  think,  as 
you  are.  Therefore,  whenever  I  look  at  you,  it  seems  to  me  I 
see  myself  as  I  might  be,  but  am  not." 

"  You  will  be  yourself,  again,"  said  Mohammed,  tenderly. 
"  When  you  have  become  strong  again,  no  one  will  be  able 
to  compete  with  you  in  manly  exercises,  and  like  all  the 
other  boys  I  shall  have  to  bow  my  head  humbly  before  you, 
and  shall  have  to  pay  you  the  tribute  as  they  pay  it  to  me." 

In  reply,  Osman  merely  raised  his  pale,  transparent  hand 
and  showed  it  to  Mohammed. 

"Look  at  this  pale,  colorless  hand.  A  poor,  withered 
flower,  good  for  nothing  except  to  press  the  hand  of  a  friend, 
but  a  hand  that  can  never  wield  the  sword  or  battle  with  the 
unruly  waves  as  yours  can.  No,  Mohammed  !  I  shall  perhaps 
have  health  enough  to  live  like  the  flower  or  the  blade  of 
grass,  but  not  to  live  like  the  eagle,  like  the  steed,  like  Mo- 
hammed Ali  !  But  I  will  not  complain.  I  am  contented  ; 
every  one  has  his  portion  of  happiness  on  earth  ;  mine  is,  to 
lie  on  the  purple  in  the  sunshine,  and  to  hear  my  Mohammed 
tell  stories.  But  I  entreat  you  to  come  very  often,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  sigh.  "They  have  now  curtailed  my  little 
earthly  happiness  ;  since  this  Turk  has  come  with  his  harem 
and  his  glittering  suite,  I  am  very  miserable.  I  know  that  my 
father  feels  it,  too,  and  often  wishes  his  distinguished  guest 
had  taken  his  departure." 

"  Will  he  remain  long,  Osman  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  whether  his  sun  shines  again  in  Stam- 
boul,"  said  young  Osman,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  I  must 


THE   FRIENDS.  69 

tell  you,  Mohammed,  there  are  peculiar  circumstances  con- 
nected with  this  gentleman.  He  has  fallen  into  disfavor,  and 
is  waiting  here  to  see  whether  his  sun  will  shine  again  or  not. 
He  has  been  sent  into  exile,  and  it  was  really  intended  that  he 
should  go  to  Egypt,  where  the  Mamelukes  of  whom  you  have 
just  been  relating  such  heroic  stories,  have  again  risen  in  wild 
insurrection  against  the  Turkish  governor,  and  Cousrouf 
Pacha  is  lying  in  wait  here  because  he  has  good  friends  in 
Stamboul  who  are  working  for  him,  and  because  he  hopes 
to  be  able  to  return  to  the  beautiful  capital  where  he  can 
revel  in  luxury  ;  whereas,  if  he  should  go  to  Egypt,  he  would 
be  compelled  to  draw  the  sword  and  mai'ch  out  to  bloody 
battle." 

"  I  hate  him — the  coward  ! "  exclaimed  Mohammed.  "  I 
despise  men  who  prefer  eating  sugar  with  women  in  the 
harem,  to  mounting  their  steeds  and  taking  the  field  against 
the  enemy,  sword  in  hand." 

"  That  will  never  be  your  preference,"  said  Osman,  regard- 
ing him  tenderly. 

"No,  never,"  protested  the  boy.  "Women  are  good  play- 
things for  hours  of  leisure,  when  a  man  has  nothing  better  to 
do.  But  to  revel,  like  Cousrouf,  in  luxury — to  hide  himself 
while  he  might  be  attempting  deeds  of  heroism— to  be  dallying 
with  women  instead  of  mowing  off  the  heads  of  his  enemies, 
that  I  cannot  comprehend.  It  is  repulsive  to  me  to  think  of  a 
man's  surrounding  himself  with  women,  and  taking  delight 
in  their  caresses  and  soft  words." 

"  It  suits  Cousrouf  very  well  ! "  said  Osman,  smiling.  "  He 
spends  the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  the  harem.  Singing, 
music,  and  rejoicing,  are  the  order  of  the  day  there.  Black 
female  slaves  fan  him  with  fans  made  of  peacock-feathers  ; 
others,  on  their  knees,  fill  his  chibouque,  while  he  reclines  on 
his  cushions,  smoking  and  dreamily  gazing  at  the  beautifully- 
attired  female  slaves  who  dance  before  him." 

"  And  he,"  said  Mohammed,  "  he,  the  vain  man,  imagines 
that  they  dance  and  remain  in  his  harem  out  of  love  for 
him  ! " 

"  I  suppose  they  make  him  think  so.  They  say  a  woman's 
lips  make  a  lie  sweet,  and  that  her  face  always  wears  a  mask  ! 


70  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

And  yet,"  he  continued,  looking  dreamily  toward  the  harem, 
"  I  must  tell  you,  Mohammed,  I  sometimes  think  I  should  be 
happy,  too,  and  less  tormented  with  ennui,  if  one  of  these 
houris  of  paradise  sat  at  my  side,  chastely  veiled,  regarding  me 
lovingly  and  I  could  look  through  the  white  veil  at  the  smile 
on  her  lips.  Ah,  Mohammed,  we,  who  are  not  made  to  hecome 
heroes,  feel  an  irresistible  longing  after  love,  and  the  swreet 
delight  of  being  loved.  You,  of  course,  cannot  understand 
this." 

"No,  I  cannot,"  cried  Mohammed,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile.  "  I  shall  never  bow  my  head  beneath  the  yoke  of  fe- 
male slaves,  with  their  beautiful  almond-shaped  eyes  and  pur- 
ple lips.  I  shall  consider  all  women  as  playthings,  with  the 
exception  of  my  mother."  said  he,  bowing  his  head  with  pro- 
found reverence.  "Allah  forgive  me  for  speaking  ill  of 
women,  for  our  mothers  are  women,  Osman  !  Forgive  me 
my  pride  and  folly.  I  speak  only  of  the  light-footed  slaves, 
with  the  deceiving  smile  and  the  false  eyes." 

"  And  who  knows, '  said  Osman.  smiling,  "  but  that  my  Mo- 
hammed, who  speaks  of  these  fetters  so  derisively,  may  not 
some  day  be  vanquished  ?  Do  not  set  your  face  against  it,  Mo- 
hammed. Remember  that  even  the  heart  of  the  great  prophet 
glowed  with  love,  and  that  it  was  he  who  peopled  paradise 
with  houris,  and  promised  it,  as  the  highest  bliss,  that  beauti- 
ful women  should  there  kneel  down  before  the  blessed  spirits, 
gently  stroke  their  feet,  and  look  at  them  lovingly  with  their 
lustrous,  gazelle-like  eyes.  Therefore,  do  not  say,  Mohammed, 
that  your  heart  shall  never  be  accessible  to  love  !  Yours  is  a 
true,  manly  heart,  and  a  manly  heart  must  love.  You  see, 
Mohammed,  I  am  hardly  a  man.  and  shall  probably  never  be- 
come one,  and  therefore  I  do  not  believe  that  love  will  ever 
hold  me  in  its  golden  net ;  I  shall  love  nothing  but  my  best, 
my  only  friend." 

"  And  will  you  tell  me  his  name,  Osman  ? "  asked  Moham- 
med, bending  down  closely  to  him.  Passionately,  almost 
threateningly,  he  repeated  :  "  Will  you  tell  me  the  name  of 
this,  your  beloved,  your  only  friend  ? " 

Osman,  smiled,  took  from  a  cushion  an  oval  mirror, 
framed  in  mother-of-pearl,  with  a  golden  handle,  and  held  it 


THE   FRIENDS.  7J 

before  Mohammed.     "  Look  at  yourself,  and  you  will  know 
his  name." 

Looking,  not  at  the  mirrow,  but  earnestly  into  his  friend's 
eyes,  Mohammed  stooped  down  and  kissed  Osman's  lips. 

"  Listen,  Osman,  to  what  I  say  !  I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  confess  it,  and  yet  it  is  true,  next  to  my  mother  I  love  you 
best  on  earth,  and  I  believe  I  could  sacrifice  my  life  for  you." 

"  And  I  mine  for  you,"  said  Osman,  gently. 

"  Let  us  swear  to  be  true  friends  forever,"  continued  Mo- 
hammed. "  Here  is  my  hand  !  Eternal  friendship  !  If  you 
need  me,  Osman,  call  me,  and,  were  I  ever  so  distant,  I  would 
come  to  you.  When  in  want,  or  when  cast  down  by  sorrow 
and  suffering,  I  will  complain  to  no  one  but  you.  What  my 
lips  will  confess  to  no  one  else,  they  shall  confess  to  Osman. 
Shall  it  be  so  ?  Friendship  for  life  ? " 

"  Yes,  life-long  friendship  ! "  said  Osman.  "  Men  need  not 
know  it.  We  will  preserve  as  our  secret  the  bond  of  friend- 
ship we  have  formed,  and  I  only  entreat  of  Allah  that  he 
may  some  day  permit  me  to  prove  to  you  that  I  am  your 
friend." 

"  And  this  I  entreat  of  Allah,  too,"  said  Mohammed,  warmly 
pressing  his  friend's  wan  hand.  ''  But  now  let  me  go  ;  the 
scha-er  relates  again  to-day,  and  I  will  go  and  hear  him,  and 
come  to-morrow  to  repeat  to  you  what  I  have  heard,  if  you 
wish  it." 

"  I  shall  await  you,  Mohammed,  and  count  the  hours  until 
you  come." 

They  shook  hands  once  more,  and  Mohammed  hurried 
off  down  the  garden-walks.  Osman's  eyes  followed  him  lov- 
ingly. 

"I  love  him,  and  may  Allah  enable  me  to  prove  it  some 
day  1 " 

Mohammed  hurries  on,  heedless  of  the  direction  he  has 
taken,  and  forgetting  that  the  use  of  the  main  avenue  was 
forbidden  since  the  harem  had  taken  possession  of  the  park. 
He  walks  on,  carelessly,  heedlessly.  He  wishes  to  pass  out  at 
the  back  gate  of  the  garden,  as  he  often  did.  Hastening  on. 
with  flushed  cheeks,  he  hardly  perceives  a  veiled  figure,  ac- 
companied by  two  eunuchs,  that  has  just  stepped  out  into  the 


72  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

walk  from  a  side-path.  The  eunuchs  cry  out,  and  imperiously 
command  him  to  depart  instantly.  Mohammed  stands  still, 
shrugs  his  shoulders,  and  regards  them  derisively. 

''  Are  you  the  masters  here  in  the  park  of  the  tschorbadji 
of  Ca valla  ? "  he  asks,  proudly.  "  I  shall  depart  when  I 
choose,  and  because  I  choose,  and  not  because  the  strange 
servants  of  the  stranger  have  the  insolence  to  order  me  to 
do  so." 

He  said  this  in  haughty,  angry  tones,  and  with  sparkling 
eyes,  inclined  his  head  slightly  to  the  veiled  female  figure,  and 
passed  slowly  by  her  without  even  a  curious  glance. 

But  she  stands  still,  and  her  black  eyes  burn  like  flames  as 
her  gaze  follows  him,  and  her  purple  lips  murmur,  in  low 
tones  :  ''  Beautiful  is  he,  as  the  young  day  ;  beautiful  as  the 
rosy  dawn  of  heaven  !  Oh,  that  it  shone  over  me  !  Oh,  that 
this  sun  were  mine  ! " 

He  heeded  her  not ;  he  did  not  hear  the  sweet  whispering 
of  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  SOUL  IN  THE  AGONIES  OF  DEATH. 

THE  narratives  of  the  scha-er  continued  to  resound  in  Mo- 
hammed's soul,  and  occupied  him  day  and  night.  His  exist- 
ence seemed  useless  and  empty,  and  every  thing  that  sur- 
rounded him  colorless  and  desolate.  What  cared  he  now  for 
cliffs  and  caves,  for  the  surging  sea.  for  the  blue  sky  ?  How 
little  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  best  rifleman  and  oarsman  of 
the  island,  to  be  renowned  down  in  Praousta  as  the  best  fisher- 
man ! 

What  does  he  care  for  all  this  ?  Who  hears  of  what  takes 
place  in  Cavalla,  or  in  the  miserable  village  of  Praousta  ?  No- 
body comes  here  except  the  merchants  who  sometimes  land  to 
purchase  the  celebrated  tobacco,  and  the  sultan's  collectors 
who  come  twice  a  year  for  the  taxes. 

Who  knows  of  these  insignificant  places  ?  Who  observes 
Mohammed  Ali  when  he  strikes  the  bird  in  its  flight,  or  steers 


A  SOUL   IN   THE   AGONIES   OF   DEATH.  73 

his  boat  over  the  waves  in  the  wildest  storm  ?  All  is  tame 
and  paltry  !  With  his  mind's  eye  he  sees  before  him  the  cities 
the  scha-er  had  told  of.  Over  there  in  Egypt,  stretched  out  on 
the  yellow  shore  of  the  green  sea,  lies  a  great  and  magnificent 
city  with  towers,  minarets,  and  temples,  a  city  such  as  he  has 
never  seen,  the  city  of  Alexandria.  Before  this  city,  in  the 
spacious  harbor  that  has  existed  for  thousands  of  years,  lie 
long  rows  of  ships  with  masts,  and  fluttering  flags,  and  golden 
images  at  their  bows. 

Little  boats  dance  about  the  ship,  and  all  is  activity  and 
bustle.  In  the  interior  of  the  land  shines  El-Kahera,  the  new 
city,  with  the  palaces  of  the  caliphs  and  its  hundreds  of  mina- 
rets and  temples.  The  streets  are  alive  with  men  of  all  na- 
tions ;  there  are  Turks  and  Arabians,  Egyptians  and  Euro- 
peans. The  blacks  of  Nubia  and  Abyssinia  mingle  with  the 
white  men  of  France  and  Germany,  and  the  languages  of  all 
nations  are  heard. 

He  lay  on  the  rock,  on  the  Ear  of  Bucephalus,  gazing  out 
into  the  distance  toward  the  horizon,  imagining  he  could  see 
these  wondrous  cities.  He  dreamed  of  the  glories  of  the 
world,  and  his  fancy  beheld  boats  and  ships,  palaces  and  mina- 
rets. 

The  sea  lies  beneath  like  a  blue  mirror.  The  waves  mur- 
mur in  low  tones  as  they  caress  the  shore.  The  stillness  is  pro- 
found, the  solitude  of  the  first  day  of  creation  surrounds  him. 
Suddenly  a  cry  resounds,  a  loud,  piercing  one,  such  as  the 
eagle  utters  when  his  young  are  in  danger.  It  aroused  Mo- 
hammed from  his  meditation. 

"  Strange  !  I  heard  the  cry,  yet  I  can  nowhere  see  the  eagle 
that  uttered  it." 

For  the  second  time  it  resounds,  louder  and  more  piercing 
than  before.  Mohammed  shudders  in  his  whole  being. 

The  cry  is  not  that  of  an  eagle.  It  is  a  human  voice. 
Toussoun  has  uttered  it,  and  it  announces  that  his  mother  is 
in  danger.  He  springs  with  horror  to  his  feet,  and  bounds 
from  rock  to  rock,  down  the  steep — he  has  just  heard  the  cry 
for  the  third  time. 

"  Await  me,  mother  !     O  my  mother,  I  am  coming  ! " 

Like  an  arrow  he  speeds  through  the  suburb  to  his  mother's 
6 


Q- 


74  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

hut.  Pale  and  terrified,  Toussoun  meets  him  at  the  door.  He 
had  risen  from  his  bed  of  sickness  in  response  to  Khadra's 
call.  With  weak,  trembling  lips  he  had  entreated  her  to 
allow  him  to  call  her  son,  and  he  did  call  him,  breathing  out 
his  last  remnant  of  strength  in  summoning  Mohammed  to 
his  mother.  Pale,  weak,  and  ill,  he  now  returns  to  his  own 
hut,  supported  on  the  arm  of  a  neighbor,  and  returns  to  die. 

Mohammed  has  not  noticed  him.  He  springs  to  the  door, 
tears  it  open,  and  sees  the  women  who  have  come  to  Sitta 
Khadra's  assistance.  Now  that  he  has  come  they  walk  out 
noiselessly,  and  wait  at  the  door. 

How  long  will  it  be  before  she  is  dead,  before  they  can  as- 
sume the  role  of  mourning-women,  and  begin  their  lamenta- 
tions ?  True,  Sitta  Khadra  is  poor,  but  then  the  community 
will,  out  of  self-respect,  pay  the  mourning  charges.  Consol- 
ing themselves  with  this  thought,  the  women  crouch  down  at 
the  door. 

Mohammed  kneels  beside  the  mat  on  which  his  mother 
lies,  takes  her  hands — now  almost  cold — in  his  own,  bends 
over  her  and  looks  into  the  widely-distended  eyes  that  stare 
vacantly  up  at  him,  and  sobs  in  loud,  heart-rending  tones  : 
"  Mother,  mother  !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Here  I  am,  your  son, 
Mohammed.  You  cannot  die,  for  I  am  with  you  ! " 

The  words  of  her  son  reach  the  mother's  soul,  that  was 
already  on  the  point  of  fluttering  to  heaven.  It  returns  to  its 
poor  frail  habitation.  Life  returns  to  her  eyes,  and  a  faint 
smile  plays  about  her  pale  lips.  The  mother  heard  her 
child's  voice,  and  her  soul  returned  to  the  already  stiffening 
body. 

With  a  faint  smile  she  raised  her  head  a  little  to  kiss  his 
lips. 

"  I  recognize  you,  my  son,  and  I  awaken  once  more  to  bid 
you  farewell." 

"  No,  mother,  it  is  impossible,  you  cannot  leave  me  ! "  said 
he,  in  such  loud  and  piercing  tones  that  the  mourning-women 
at  the  door  heard  it  and  whispered  to  each  other  :  "  That  was 
a  good  cry  ;  we  could  do  no  better  ourselves." 

"Son  of  my  heart,"  whispered  Khadra,  and  the  mother 
employed  her  last  strength  to  force  her  cold  lips  to  speak  and 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   AGONIES   OF   DEATH.  75 

to  recall  the  thoughts  already  struggling  to  take  wing — "  son 
of  my  Ibrahim,  do  not  grieve  for  me  !  I  have  been  dying 
these  many  days,  I  have  long  struggled  with  Death.  He  stood 
at  the  door  ready  to  take  me,  but  I  thrust  him  back  that  I 
might  see  my  son,  my  darling,  once  more." 

"  O  mother,  mother  !  you  are  breaking  my  heart,"  cried 
Mohammed,  and  his  head  sank  heavily  upon  his  mother's 
shoulder. 

"  Be  brave,  my  son,  I  entreat  you  with  my  last  breath  !  Be 
brave,  be  a  man,  and  consider  my  dream  with  the  eye  of  your 
soul.  Make  it  reality  !  Make  of  the  poor,  disconsolate  boy 
who  stands  here  the  hero  of  the  future,  as  I  saw  you  in  my 
visions  in  the  nights  before  you  were  born  !  I  saw  a  crown 
on  your  head  and  a  sword  glittered  in  your  hand.  And  I  see 
the  future  now,  too  ;  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  see,  my  son  : 
I  see  you,  your  son,  and  your  grandson  !  They  shall  all  wear 
crowns,  shall  sit  on  one  throne,  and  the  nations  shall  lie  in 
the  dust  before  them  !  My  soul  has  returned  to  announce  this 
to  you." 

"  If  your  soul  has  returned,"  said  he,  in  tones  of  earnest  en- 
treaty, '"  then  command  it  to  remain  with  you  !  Life  will  be 
solitary  and  desolate  without  you.  You  are  the  only  woman 
I  love.  If  you  go,  take  me  with  you,  and  tell  the  prophet,  if 
he  be  angry,  that  I  could  be  of  no  use  here  on  earth  without 
you.  Take  me  to  my  father  and  say  to  ^him,  the  family  shall 
be  united  in  heaven  as  it  never  was  on  earth." 

"  No,  you  shall  not  go  with  me,"  said  she,  raising  herself 
with  a  last  effort  from  the  mat.  "  I  command  you  to  live  !  I 
shall  go  to  your  father  and  bear  him  the  greeting  of  our  only 
son,  and  say  to  him,  'We  shall  not  die,  we  shall  live  on  in 
our  son  ;  he  will  make  our  name  great  and  glorious  before  the 
world  ! '  But  you  I  command  to  make  true  what  I  shall  tell 
him." 

She  sank  back.  Her  head  fell  heavily  on  her  pillow  of  dry 
leaves  ;  her  breathing  became  short  and  painful,  and  her  eyes 
again  assumed  the  vacant  expression  that  had  struck  such  ter- 
ror to  Mohammed's  soul. 

"  Mother,  I  entreat  you,  answer  me  once  more  !  Do  you 
hear  me  ?  Do  you  love  me  ? " 


76  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"  I  hear  you,"  murmured  the  stiffening  lips.  "  And  do  I 
love  you  ?  Your  mother's  love  struggled  with  Death  for  a 
whole  year.  He  tried  to  drag  me  hence,  and  I  struggled  with 
him  day  after  day,  and  night  after  night.  Love  helped  me  to 
deceive  you,  or  you  would  have  seen  your  mother  dying  day 
hy  day.  Now,  I  am  going  hence,  and  the  agathodaemon  will 
give  me  new  garments,  and  a  new  countenance  full  of  youth 
and  beauty,  that  your  father  may  see  me  as  I  looked  in  the 
days  of  our  youthful  love.  O  my  son,  may  the  woman  you 
are  to  love  be  not  far  distant ;  may  she  soon  wing  her  flight  to 
you,  the  dove  of  innocence,  with  the  countenance  of  love  and 
the  fragrance  of  the  rose  ?  May  she  open  heaven  unto  you 
with  her  star-like  eyes  ?  This  is  my  last  blessing,  my  son. 
Allah  watch  over  you  !  Farewell !  " 

The  words  were  soft  and  low,  like  the  whispering  of  a  de- 
parting spirit.  Mohammed  had  listened  eagerly,  his  ear  held 
close  to  her  lips,  and  he  still  listened  when  the  light  of  his 
mother's  eyes  was  extinguished,  and  the  hand  of  Death  had 
swept  over  her  countenance,  imparting  to  the  white  brow  a 
yellow,  and  to  the  lips  a  blue  tint.  Suddenly  he  shuddered, 
raised  his  head  and  looked  at  his  mother.  He  then  uttered  a 
shriek,  a  loud,  fearful  shriek,  that  caused  the  mourning-women 
outside  to  bound  to  their  feet,  for  they  knew  that  it  was  thus 
that  survivors  shriek  when  Death  seizes  his  prey. 

They  now  commence  their  mournings,  and  farther  off  other 
cries  and  lamentations  are  heard.  The  latter  are  uttered  by 
the  friends  of  Ibrahim  Aga.  They  have  placed  themselves 
near  the  hut  to  begin,  according  to  a  religious  custom,  the  ser- 
vice of  the  dead,  as  soon  as  the  soul  shall  have  left  the  body. 

They  form  a  circle  near  the  open  door.  Their  arms  crossed 
over  their  breasts,  they  stand  there,  moving  their  heads  con- 
tinually from  one  side  to  the  other.  "  Allah  il  Allah  ! "  they 
cry,  and  within  stand  the  women  shrieking,  yelling,  and  la- 
menting, over  the  deceased.  They  at  last  arouse  Mohammed, 
who  had  swooned  away  beside  the  body.  He  springs  to  his 
feet,  pushes  back  the  women,  and  bounds  into  the  middle  of 
the  circle  of  men,  who  whirl  around  faster  and  faster  ;  they 
suppose  he  has  come  to  join  in  their  ceremony,  but  he  pushes 
them  aside  and  rushes  forth.  He  rushes  so  rapidly  up  the 


A  SOUL   IN   THE   AGONIES  OF   DEATH.  77 

pathway  that  no  one  can  follow  him,  and  no  one  attempts  to 
do  so. 

"  His  grief  must  exhaust  itself,"  they  say  to  each  other. 
"  When  it  has  done  so,  and  evening  conies,  he  will  return." 

The  evening  came,  but  Mohammed  had  not  returned  to 
perform  the  sacred  duty  of  watching  over  the  dead  through 
the  night,  as  it  became  an  only  son  to  do.  The  mourning- 
women  had  departed  to  rest  after  their  exertions.  They  now 
returned,  the  sheik  having  ordered  that  they  should  perform 
the  night-watch  in  the  absence  of  the  son,  in  order  that  the 
ghins  might  not  enter  and  pronounce  their  curse  over  the 
house,  condemning  the  future  generations,  descending  from 
the  dead,  to  misery. 

The  mourning-women  remained  the  entire  night,  sometimes 
interrupting  their  prayers,  to  say  to  each  other  that  Moham- 
med, the  only  son,  was  really  a  very  unnatural  child,  and  re- 
spected his  mother  very  little,  or  he  would  not  be  wandering 
about  among  the  rocks,  while  his  mother's  body  was  still  un- 
buried.  Then  they  console  themselves  with  the  thought  that 
he  will  come  in  the  morning,  when  the  tomtom  resounds, 
which  calls  the  people  to  the  funeral. 

The  signal  is  heard  on  the  following  morning,  and  the  men 
come  carrying  in  their  crossed  arms  the  Koran. 

The  sheik  himself  condescends  to  appear  at  Sitta  Khadra's 
funeral.  She  was  an  honest,  virtuous  woman,  and  is  to  be 
buried  with  honor  beside  the  grave  of  her  husband,  Ibrahim. 

The  mourners  slowly  assemble.  The  tomtom  is  still  vainly 
summoning  the  only  son. 

The  body  has  been  laid  on  two  boards  covered  with  woollen 
cloths,  and  is  borne  out  on  the  shoulders  of  four  men.  The 
mourning- women  yell  and  shriek,  the  men  murmur  prayers, 
and  the  drum  resounds,  while  the  procession  is  slowly  moving 
toward  the  place  of  burial. 

Mohammed  hears  nothing  of  all  this.  He  has  fled  to  the 
cave,  once  his  paradise,  now  his  hell.  There  he  lies  on  his 
mat,  looking  up  through  the  opening  in  the  rock  at  the 
heavens,  and  cursing  the  ghins  who  have  robbed  him  of  his 
mother.  But  his  agathodaBmon  will  intercede  with  Allah  for 
his  forgiveness  for  the  despair  which  causes  his  lips  to  utter 


78  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

curses  of  which  his  heart  knows  nothing.  The  good  spirits 
will  intercede  for  the  poor  boy. 

"  Driven  out  into  the  world  alone.  Poorer  than  the  eagle's 
brood  in  their  nest  overhead,  that  have  tender  parents  to  care 
for  them.  No  one  cares  for  me." 

The  echo  mournfully  repeats  the  piercing  cry  that  had  re- 
sounded throughout  the  cave,  and  says  sadly:  "No  one,  no 
one  !  "  He  then  sinks  down  on  his  mat,  and  lies  there  motion- 
less and  insensible  with  grief  and  horror. 

Without,  the  sea  murmurs  gently,  as  if  to  sing  a  song  of 
consolation.  He  hears  it  not.  All  is  now  so  still  that  the 
little  snakes  and  green  lizards  with  then*  sparkling  eyes  ven- 
ture forth  again  from  the  hiding-places  to  which  they  had  fled 
when  his  despairing  voice  reverberated  through  the  cave. 
They  creep  up  to  the  dark,  motionless  mass  that  lies  there  on 
the  ground.  The  sun  sends  its  rays  through  the  opening  in 
the  rock,  and  throws  a  streak  of  golden  light  across  the  pros- 
trate body,  and  the  little  animals  crawl  and  rustle  about  to 
enjoy  the  sunshine. 

A  large  rock -serpent  has  crawled  from  its  lair  and  coiled 
itself  beside  Mohammed  ;  its  eyes  glitter  in  the  sunlight  like 
precious  stones. 

"  I  will  die — die  ! "  he  suddenly  cries  out,  and  springs  to 
his  feet  so  quickly  that  the  serpents  and  lizards  barely  escape 
being  trodden  on  as  they  escape  to  their  holes  behind  the 
rocks.  "  Here  I  will  remain  !  How  often,  in  the  past,  have  I 
longed  to  be  in  my  cave — my  only  secret — my  only  possession  ! 
Once,  to  gratify  this  longing,  I  came  here,  and  then  turned 
back,  and  said  to  myself  :  He  who  cannot  practise  self-denial, 
cannot  enjoy  !  And  now  I  have  practised  it,  and  yet  I  have 
not  enjoyed  !  But  now  I  will  enjoy — will  enjoy  death,  at 
least !  Yes,  I  am  resolved,"  said  he,  with  trembling  lips — "  I 
will  remain  here  and  enjoy  death  !  What  does  this  strug- 
gling from  day  to  day  avail — this  dreaming  of  future  glory  ? 
Each  succeeding  day  is  in  poverty  and  misery  the  same.  I 
was  a  fool  to  dream  of  future  glory.  Now  I  will  die  !  Let 
others  be  happy  !  Let  the  slave,  Osman  Bey,  attain  what  the 
free  Mohammed  cannot  attain.  He  is  welcome  to  his  reward 
— death  is  at  the  end  of  it  all,  for  him,  too  ! " 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   AGONIES  OF  DEATH.  79 

He  looks,  through  the  opening  in  the  rock,  at  the  heavens 
above  him,  and  then  rises  higher  to  look  down  at  the  sea  also, 
as  though  he  wished  to  take  leave  of  it  in  a  last  glance.  He 
then  lies  down  on  his  mat  again.  "Yes,  let  the  slave  Osman 
achieve  glory — the  free  Mohammed  prefers  death  ! " 

And  yet,  against  his  will,  he  must  still  think  of  the  slave 
who  has  gone  out  into  the  world  over  the  sea  to  the  wondrous 
land  of  Egypt,  where  the  caliphs  were  once  enthroned,  where 
their  tombs  still  stand,  and  where  the  Mamelukes  now  rule  in 
their  stead.  He  still  dreams  of  this  wondrous  land,  with  its 
ancient  cities,  and  thinks  that  these  may  be  the  death-dreams 
that  are  to  lull  him  to  his  eternal  rest. 

He  is  suddenly  awakened  from  his  dreams  by  a  horrible 
sensation.  It  is  hunger — the  hunger  that  rages  within  him — 
it  is  thirst  that  parches  his  lips.  The  soul  wishes  to  die,  but 
the  body  calls  the  man  back  to  life,  and  appeals  to  him  so 
loudly,  so  vehemently,  that  he  cannot  but  listen  to  its  voice. 

He  resists  with  all  his  might.  He  will  conquer  this  miser- 
able hunger,  this  despicable  thirst ;  he  will  not  heed  the  pains 
that  rend  his  body,  he  will  be  strong,  and  a  hero,  in  death  at 
least. 

Convulsively  he  clings  to  the  rock  as  if  to  a  support 
against  the  allurements  that  strive  to  draw  him  out  into  life. 
But  the  voice  of  the  world  appeals  to  him,  in  louder  and 
louder  tones,  and  fearful  are  the  torments  he  is  undergoing. 

The  spirit  must  at  last  succumb  to  the  demands  of  Nature. 
He  rises  to  give  to  the  body  what  of  right  belongs  to  the  body  : 
nourishment — drink  and  food. 

He  creeps  to  the  entrance,  and  is  so  weak  that  he  can 
hardly  pass  through  the  opening,  which  he  had  formerly 
made  still  narrower,  that  no  one  might  discover  it.  He  is  so 
weak  that  he  can  scarcely  stand  upright  ;  his  swollen  lips  are 
bleeding ;  his  brain  is  burning,  and  he  sinks  down  upon  a 
rock.  A  kindly  voice  now  calls  him.  He  hears  it,  but  lacks 
the  strength  to  answer. 

"  Mohammed  !  Mohammed  ! "  is  heard  again,  and  now  the 
merchant,  Lion,  approaches  from  behind  a  projecting  rock. 
He  had  seen  the  boy,  but  knowing  his  proud  heart,  and  fear- 
ing to  put  him  to  shame  by  showing  himself,  and  saying  that 


80  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

he  came  to  his  assistance,  he  had  lingered  behind  the  rock. 
He  now  kneels  down  beside  the  boy,  bends  over  him,  kisses 
his  lips,  and  whispers  loving  words  in  his  ear. 

"  Poor  child  !  Your  mother,  who  loved  you  so  tenderly, 
would  weep  bitterly  if  she  could  see  you  in  this  condition. 
Poor  boy,  you  must  strengthen  yourself  !  I  know  you  have 
eaten  nothing,  and  I  have  brought  you  food  ! " 

He  drew  a  bottle  from  from  his  pocket,  and  poured  a  little 
wine  on  his  lips.  Mohammed  tried  to  resist,  but  the  body 
was  stronger  than  the  will.  He  greedily  swallows  the  wine, 
and,  without  knowing  it,  asks  for  more.  The  merchant  smiles 
approvingly,  and  pours  a  little  more  on  his  lips,  and  then 
gives  him  a  small  piece  of  white  bread  that  he  had  brought 
with  him,  and  rejoices  when  he  sees  Mohammed  breathing 
with  renewed  life. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ? "  he  murmured  ;  "  I  must  die,  that 
I  may  go  to  my  mother  ! " 

The  merchant  stooped  down  lower  over  the  boy,  and  kissed 
him.  "  Your  mother,  who  loves  you  so  dearly,  sends  you  this 
kiss,  through  me.  She  confided  to  me  that  she  must  die,  and 
I  promised  her  that  I  would  bring  you  a  kiss  from  her  when- 
ever I  saw  you.  With  this  kiss  she  commands  you  to  be  brave 
and  happy  throughout  life." 

And,  as  he  ceased  speaking,  he  inclined  his  head  and  kissed 
him  a  second  time. 

Now,  as  he  receives  this  kiss  from  his  mother,  the  tears 
suddenly  burst  from  his  eyes  and  pour  down  his  cheeks — hot 
tears— and  yet  they  cool  and  alleviate  the  burning  pains  of  his 
soul. 

"  You  weep,"  said  the  merchant,  whose  own  cheeks  were 
wet  with  grief  ;  "  weep  on,  pain  must  have  its  relief  in  tears, 
and  even  a  man  need  not  be  ashamed  of  them." 

He  sat  down  beside  Mohammed,  drew  him  close  to  his  side, 
supporting  the  boy's  head  on  his  bosom,  and  spoke  to  him  of 
his  dear  mother. 

"  Nor  are  you  poor,  Mohammed.  Your  mother  returned  to 
me  your  love-offering,  together  with  other  sums  she  had 
saved.  I  have  fifty  gold-pieces  for  you  !  Yes,  fifty  glittering 
gold-pieces  !  You  can  now  dress  better  than  formerly,  until 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   AGONIES  OF  DEATH.  gl 

provision  is  made  for  your  future  ;  and,  if  you  should  need 
advice  or  assistance,  come  to  me.  You  know  that  I  am  your 
friend.  And  now,  be  happy  and  courageous  ;  remember  that 
poor  Sitta  Khadra  has  suffered  much,  and  let  her  be  at  rest 
now.  Another  friend  is  awaiting  you  above  on  the  rock  ; 
will  you  go  up  to  him  ? " 

"  It  is  Osman,  is  it  not  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  as  he  dried  his 
eyes.  "  Am  I  not  right  ? " 

The  merchant  inclined  his  head.  "  He  could  not  come 
down  the  steep  path,  or  he  would  be  here  now." 

"  I  will  go  to  him  ;  I  know  he  loves  me.  He  will  not  laugh 
when  he  sees  that  I  have  been  weeping." 

No,  Osman  did  not  laugh.  When  he  saw  his  friend  com- 
ing, he  advanced  to  meet  him  with  extended  arms,  and  they 
embraced  each  other  tenderly,  tears  standing  in  the  eyes  of 
both. 

All  was  still  ;  nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  murmur  of 
the  sea,  and  the  rustling  of  the  wind. 

The  merchant,  who  had  at  first  stood  in  silence  beside  the 
two,  now  walked  noiselessly  away. 

They  love  each  other,  and  what  they  have  to  say,  no  one 
else  should  hear. 

Mohammed  stands  up  and  dries  his  eyes  ;  he  wishes  to  be 
composed.  Osman  holds  out  his  hand  : 

"  Your  mother  is  dead,  but  she  survives  in  your  friends, 
and  your  mother  and  your  friend  now  extend  the  hand  to  you. 
Mohammed,  come  with  me  to  my  house,  for  my  house  is  yours, 
too.  I  will  not  have  you  remain  alone  ;  you  must  come  with 
me." 

Mohammed  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  It  cannot  be— I  will 
not  become  a  slave  !  " 

"  Come,  out  of  love  for  me.  Not  as  my  slave,  but  as  my 
friend.  Oh,  I  am  so  lonely,  and  you  are  the  only  one  who 
loves,  and  can  console,  poor,  sickly  Osman." 

"  I  will  come  to  you  ! "  exclaimed  Mohammed,  drawing  his 
friend  to  his  bosom.  "  Even  as  a  slave  would  I  come,  for  I 
should  be  my  friend's  slave.  I  will  come  to  you." 


82  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

CHAPTER  X. 
COUSROUF  PACHA. 

THE  days  had  passed  quietly  and  monotonously  for  Mo- 
hammed since  the  death  of  his  mother. 

To  climb  among  the  rocks  with  his  gun  in  stormy  weather, 
to  cross  over  in  his  boat  to  Imbra,  after  the  fishermen's  nets 
and  fish,  and  to  tame  the  young  Arabian  steeds  of  the  tschor- 
badji  that  had  as  yet  known  no  bridle,  these  were  now  Mo- 
hammed's chief  pursuits  and  pleasures,  and  in  them  he  engaged 
with  passionate  ardor  when  at  leisure,  that  is,  when  not  with 
his  friend  Osman  Bey. 

That  which  they  had  vowed  to  each  other  after  the  death 
of  Mohammed's  mother,  they  had  kept — true  and  firm  friend- 
ship, brotherly  and  confidential  intercourse.  With  one  wish 
only  of  young  Osman,  had  Mohammed  not  complied  :  he  had 
not  gone  to  live  with  him  in  the  proud,  governmental  build- 
ing— had  refused  to  share  his  friend's  luxury  and  magnifi- 
cence, and  to  allow  his  poverty  to  be  put  to  shame  by  the 
benefits  which  he  would  have  been  compelled  to  accept. 

The  hut,  inherited  from  his  parents,  he  retained  as  his  own 
dwelling.  In  it  nothing  had  been  changed  ;  the  mat  on  which 
his  mother  had  died  was  now  his  bed.  In  the  pitcher  out  of 
which  she  had  drunk,  he  each  morning  brought  fresh  water 
from  the  spring,  and  all  the  articles  she  had  used,  poor  and 
miserable  as  they  were,  now  constituted  the  furniture  of 
his  hut. 

In  vain  had  Osman  continually  renewed  his  entreaties  : 
"  Come  to  me.  Live  with  me  ;  not  for  your  own  sake,  Mo- 
hammed. I  know  that  you  despise  luxury,  and  that  the 
splendor  that  surrounds  us  is  offensive  to  you.  Not  for  your 
own,  but  for  my  sake,  Mohammed,  come  to  me  and  live  with 
us.  My  father  is  so  anxious  to  have  you  do  so,  for  he  knows 
that  your  presence  is  the  best  medicine  for  me.  I  feel  so  well 
and  strong  when  I  look  at  you,  Mohammed  ;  and,  when  you 
sometimes  yield  to  my  entreaties  and  spend  the  night  with 
me  in  my  room,  it  seems  to  me  I  sleep  better,  for  I  know 


COUSROUF  PACHA.  83 

that  my  friend  is  watching  over  me.  Stay  with  me,  Moham- 
med ! " 

These  soft  entreaties,  accompanied  by  tender  looks,  touched 
Mohammed,  but  they  could  not  shake  his  resolution. 

u  I  cannot  and  dare  not  accept,  Osman.  It  would  make  me 
unhappy  ;  I  should  feel  myself  under  too  much  restraint ;  I 
must,  above  all,  preserve  the  consciousness  of  being  perfectly 
free  and  independent.  I  must  feel  that  I  can  leave  when  I 
choose,  and  for  this  very  reason  is  it  so  sweet  to  remain — to  be 
with  you,  unfettered  for  your  sake  only,  Osman.  If  I  should 
come  and  live  with  you  in  the  palace  of  the  tschorbadji,  do 
you  not  think  I  should  be  an  object  of  dislike  to  your  slaves 
and  servants  ;  that  they  would  point  at  me  when  I  passed,  and 
whisper  :  '  How  proud  and  insolent  he  is,  and  yet  he  is  less 
than  I  !  We  are  the  slaves  of  our  master,  and  repay  with  our 
work  the  money  he  spends  on  our  account.  But  what  is  he  ? 
A  proud  beggar  supported  by  charity,  who  has  the  impudence 
to  give  himself  the  airs  of  a  gentleman.'  Your  slaves  would 
say  this  of  me,  and  mock  me  with  my  beggar  pride.  But,  as 
it  is,  I  am  free,  and  my  clothing  is  my  own.  It  is  certainly 
not  as  handsome  as  yours,  the  caftan  not  embroidered,  the 
shawl  not  of  Persian  make,  and  the  kuffei  around  my  fez  not 
in  worked  with  gold.  But  yet  it  is  my  own,  and  it  pleases  me 
to  be  thus  plainly  dressed,  as  it  becomes  the  son  of  Ibrahim 
Aga.  I  live  as  it  becomes  me  ;  my  hut  is  dark  and  poor — but 
it  is  mine,  and  in  it  I  am  a  free  man.  I  do  not  sleep  on  soft 
cushions  ;  a  plain  mat  is  my  bed,  but  on  this  mat  my  mother 
reposed,  and  on  it  she  died.  To  me  it  is  sacred.  I  pray  to  my 
mother  each  night,  Osman,  and  I  greet  her  each  morning 
when  I  drink  out  of  the  wooden  cup  so  often  touched  by  her 
lips.  I  should  have  to  give  up  all  this,  and  come  here  to  re- 
pose in  splendid  apartments,  sleep  on  silken  mattresses,  and 
allow  myself  to  be  waited  on  by  slaves  who  do  not  belong  to 
me.  No,  Osman,  do  not  demand  this  ;  let  me  come  to  you 
each  day,  of  my  own  free-will  and  love." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  his  friend,  who,  as  usual,  lay  re- 
clining on  his  couch,  and  Osman  pressed  it  warmly  in  his 
own. 

"  Yon  are  a  proud  boy,"  said  he,  in  low  tones,  "  and  though 


84  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

your  refusal  gives  me  pain,  I  can  still  understand  that  in  your 
sense  you  are  right,  Mohammed.  In  short,  you  do  not  wish 
to  be  grateful  to  anybody." 

"  And  yet  I  am  grateful  to  you,  Osman,"  said  Mohammed, 
regarding  him  tenderly  ;  "  all  my  heart  is  full  of  gratitude 
and  love  for  you  ;  but  how  much  do  I  owe  to  you  !  Is  it  not  for 
your  sake  that  your  father,  the  proud  tschorbadji,  is  so  kind 
and  friendly  to  me  ?  Does  he  not  allow  me,  the  lowly  born,  to 
sit  with  him  at  his  table,  and  treat  me  as  his  equal  ? " 

"  Because  he  well  knows  that  you  would  otherwise  never 
corne  to  me  again,"  said  Osman,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  He  is  care- 
ful not  to  hurt  or  offend  you  in  any  way,  for,  as  you  know, 
my  father  loves  me  very  dearly,  and  it  would  give  him  pain 
to  deprive  me  of  the  only  friend  I  possess.  My  father  knows 
that  you  are  my  benefactor,  and  that  I  live  from  your  life, 
Mohammed.  Look  at  me  wonderingly,  if  you  will ;  I  am  a 
sick  child,  and  shall  remain  one,  although  years  have  made 
me  a  youth.  And  let  me  tell  you,  Mohammed,  I  shall  never 
become  a  strong,  healthy  man.  I  have  very  weak  lungs,  in- 
herited from  my  mother,  and  if  it  were  not  for  you,  if  I  had 
not  been  sustained  by  your  healthy  and  vigorous  mind  and 
disposition,  I  should  have  died  long  since.  Therefore,  do  not 
say  that  you  have  cause  to  be  grateful  to  me.  My  father  and 
I  both  have  cause  to  be  grateful  to  you,  for  my  father  loves 
me  and  rejoices  in  my  life  ;  and  I,  too,  am  very  glad  to  live. 
The  sun  is  so  beautiful,  it  is  so  delightful  to  look  at  the  deep- 
blue  sky,  the  flowers  are  so  fragrant,  and  finally  it  is  such  a 
pleasure  to  see  you  and  to  rejoice  in  your  vigorous  mind.  I 
therefore  owe  every  thing  to  you,  Mohammed,  and  father  and 
I  know  this,  and  are  very  thankful." 

u  Those  are  sweet  words,  Osman,"  said  Mohammed,  bestow- 
ing an  affectionate  look  on  his  friend.  "  You  are  so  noble  and 
generous,  that  you  wish  to  make  it  appear  that  all  the  benefits 
I  have  received  from  you  were  bestowed  by  me.  But  Allah 
knows  that  I  am  profoundly  grateful,  and  I  am  aware,  too, 
that  I  have  cause  to  be.  Only  consider,  that  to  you  and  your 
father  I  owe  all  that  I  know.  Have  I  not  been  allowed  to 
share  the  instruction  given  you  ?  Has  not  the  scha-er,  whom 
your  father,  as  his  narratives  pleased  us  so  much,  kept  here  at 


COUSROUF  PACHA.  85 

a  heavy  expense,  instructed  me,  too,  and  taught  us  hoth  the  his- 
tory of  our  own  and  of  all  other  countries  ?  Have  I  not  had  the 
same  opportunities  as  yourself  of  learning  of  all  that  is  going 
on  out  in  the  world  ?  Did  I  not  share  your  instruction  in  all 
other  branches  ?  Have  not  the  poems  of  our  land  been  read 
to  us,  and  have  we  not  learned  to  understand  the  Koran,  and 
receive  into  our  souls  the  wise  teachings  of  the  prophet  Ma- 
hommed  ?  Have  we  not  also  learned  the  difficult  science  of 
algebra,  and  are  we  not  familiar  with  the  laws  of  justice  ?  Do 
I  not  owe  it  entirely  to  the  instruction  which  I  have  shared 
with  you  that  I  can  also  read  the  Koran  and  the  books  of  the 
prophets  and  poets  ?  Ah,  Osman,  I  still  remember  with  shame 
how  I  was  sorrowfully  compelled  to  confess  to  our  teacher  in 
our  first  lessons,  that  I  knew  and  understood  nothing  ;  that  I 
could  not  read,  and  did  not  even  know  the  letters  and  fig- 
ures." 

"  And  how  rapidly  you  learned  all  this  ! "  said  Osman. 
"  It  surprised  everybody,  and  I  assure  you  the  scha-er  is  al- 
ways charmed  when  he  speaks  of  you,  and  he  listens  admir- 
ingly to  what  you  say  after  the  lessons  are  over.  Yes,  the 
scha-er  says,  if  you  only  would  you  could  become  one  of  the 
greatest  of  scholars,  so  rapid  has  been  your  progress  ;  but — " 

"  But  one  thing  I  have  not  learned,"  said  Mohammed,  inter- 
rupting him  with  a  smile.  "  You  were  about  to  begin  the  old 
story,  were  you  not,  Osman  ?  '  But  you  never  would  learn  to 
write,'  you  were  about  to  say." 

u  Yes,  that  is  what  I  intended  to  say,  my  friend,  and  this 
one  thing  you  must  still  learn  :  to  use  the  pen  and  write  down 
your  thoughts  on  paper.'' 

"  I  cannot,"  ci'ied  Mohammed,  impatiently  ;  "  my  hands  are 
too  rough.  The  oar  and  the  gun  have  made  my  fingers  so 
stiff  that  I  cannot  use  the  pen." 

"Then  let  it  be  so,  I  will  torment  you  about  it  no  longer," 
said  Osman,  with  a  sigh.  "  You  are  my  head  and  I  am  your 
hand.  You  think  for  me,  and  I  shall  write  for  you.  So  shall  it 
be  throughout  our  entire  lives,  for  together  we  two  must  remain, 
and  nothing  can  separate  us.  Is  it  not  so,  my  friend  ?  Say  it, 
and  say  it  often,  that  nothing  can  separate  us.  For  you  must 
know  that  if  fate  should  tear  you  from  me  it  would  kill  me, 


gg  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

and  that  you  cannot  intend  :  therefore,  we  shall  ever  remain 
together,  shall  we  not  ?  " 

"  We  shall  ever  remain  together,"  said  Mohammed.  "  That 
is — Osman,  consider  well  what  you  are  saying,  for  you  are 
nearly  eighteen  years  old." 

"  As  you  are,"  responded  Osman,  smiling. 

"  Only  with  this  difference,  that  your  father  will  give  you 
with  your  eighteenth  year,  a  beautiful  aristocratic  lady  to 
wife,  and  establish  a  harem  for  you  ;  while  Mohammed  Ali 
will  never  have  either  a  sweetheart  or  a  harem,  but  will  al- 
ways remain  alone  and  un wedded." 

"  Who  knows  ? "  replied  Osman,  laughing.  "  Those  who 
assure  us  they  will  never  love,  says  the  poet,  are  the  one's  that 
fall  in  love  soonest.  One  is  easily  surprised  by  the  enemy 
who  is  not  feared,  and  against  whose  snares  the  heart  is  not 
on  its  guard.  .  .  .  This  will  be  your  fate,  Mohammed.  Your 
heart  is  not  on  its  guard,  and  does  not  fear  the  enemy,  love. 
.  .  .  But  my  poor  heart  has  no  cause  to  fear  and  be  on  its 
guard  ;  let  me  repeat  it,  Mohammed  ;  look  at  me.  Can  the 
poor,  pale  youth,  with  his  wan  countenance,  his  sunken  breast, 
and  his  weak  breath — can  he  think  of  marrying  ?  Or  do  you 
suppose  I  would  care  to  become  a  subject  of  jest  in  the  harem 
to  the  female  slaves  and  servants,  who  would  have  to  wait  on 
the  sick  man  ?  True,  the  tschorbadji,  my  father,  has  some- 
times spoken  of  giving  me  an  establishment  of  my  own  with 
my  eighteenth  year.  I  remained  silent,  for  fortunately  it  is  at 
present  impossible.  My  establishment  was  to  have  been  above 
in  the  upper  saloons,  and  fortunately  [Cousrouf  Pacha  with 
his  harem  is  still  in  possession  of  that  part  of  our  house.  May 
he  long  remain  there  !  I  do  not  wish  it  on  his  account,  or  be- 
cause I  love  him,  but  solely  because  my  father  must  now  de- 
lay the  execution  of  this  plan.  May  Cousrouf  Pacha,  there- 
fore, long  remain  ! " 

"  I  do  not  wish  it,"  said  Mohammed,  gloomily  ;  "  he  is  a 
hard,  proud  man,  better  in  his  own  estimation  than  anybody 
here  in  Cavalla,  better  even  than  the  tschorbadji.  I  never  saw 
a  prouder  man.  And  what  right  has  he  to  be  so  ?  Has  he 
not  fallen  into  disgrace  with  the  sultan  ?  Did  he  not  come 
here  because  he  was  banished  from  Stamboul  ?  And  do  you 


COUSEOUF  PACHA.  87 

know  why  he  was  banished  ?  I  will  tell  you  :  because — so 
have  strangers  who  have  come  here  reported — because  he 
sought  the  death  of  his  benefactor  and  master,  the  grand  ad- 
miral, Hussein  Pacha,  in  order  that  he  might  put  himself  in 
his  place. — Isn't  this  horrible,  Osman  ?  The  grand-admiral 
had  bought  him  as  a  slave,  and  then,  because  he  loved  him, 
made  him  free,  and  a  wealthy  man  ;  he  had  him  instructed, 
and  persuaded  the  sultan  to  appoint  him  bey  and  pacha  ;  and 
in  return  for  all  this,  Cousrouf  Pacha  attempted  to  poison  his 
master  and  benefactor,  and  calumniated  him  to  the  grand  sul- 
tan. Isn't  this  horrible  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  would  be  if  it  were  true,"  said  Osman  ;  "  yet 
I  do  not  believe  it.  Much  is  told  and  said  of  the  great  and 
mighty,  and  they  are  often  calumniated  and  accused  of  evil 
deeds  which  they  have  not  committed.  If  it  were  so,  do  you 
not  suppose  the  grand-admiral,  Hussein  Pacha,  the  mighty 
man,  and  the  grand-sultan,  would  have  punished  him  as  he 
deserved  ?  No,  my  father  says  differently,  and  has  received 
from  Stamboul  other  and  more  reliable  information.  Cous- 
rouf Pacha  has  fallen  into  disgrace — that  is  a  fixed  fact — and 
the  sultan  has  sent  him  into  exile.  Yet  he  did  so  against  the 
wish  of  the  Grand- Admiral  Hussein.  Do  you  know  why 
Cousrouf  has  fallen  into  disgrace  ?  Because  he  refused  to  go 
to  Egypt  as  pacha,  declaring  that  was  equivalent  to  sending 
him  into  an  open  grave,  as  he  should  never  return  home  from 
that  land  of  rebels  and  Mamelukes.  The  sultan  wished  to 
send  him  to  Egypt  because  he  suspected  him  of  having  a  secret 
amorous  intrigue  with  one  of  the  sultanas.  The  sultan  had 
been  told  that  Cousrouf  Pacha  was  in  the  habit  of  being  se- 
cretly conducted  to  the  sultana's  chamber  at  night  by  a  female 
slave.  As  the  sultan  stealthily  approached  and  opened  the 
door  of  the  chamber,  he  heard  a  rustling  and  whispering,  but 
it  was  so  dark  in  the  room  that  he  could  see  nothing.  He 
called  slaves  with  torches  to  his  assistance.  They  searched 
the  room,  but  found  nothing.  The  sultana  stood  oh  the  bal- 
cony looking  out  into  the  starlit  night.  She  met  her  husband 
with  a  smiling  countenance,  saying  the  night  was  so  beauti- 
ful, she  had  gone  out  to  gaze  at  the  stars.  The  sultan,  it  is 
said,  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage,  but  kept  silence,  as  it  would 


88  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   EIS   HOUSE. 

have  been  unworthy  of  his  dignity  to  threaten  where  he  could 
not  also  punish.  On  the  following  morning  he  sent  Cousrouf 
Pacha  into  exile  to  this  place,  my  father  tells  me.  But  it  is 
thought  the  sultan's  anger  will  soon  expend  itself,  and  that  his 
friend  the  grand-admiral,  Hussein  Pacha,  will  succeed  in  re- 
storing his  favorite  to  honor.  Cousrouf  Pacha,  my  father 
says,  is  already  heartily  tired  of  his  tedious  sojourn  here,  and 
has  written  to  Hussein  Pacha  that  he  is  now  ready  to  go  to 
Egypt  as  pacha." 

"  Pveady  to  revel  in  the  glories  of  the  world  !  Truly  this 
great  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  very  condescending  !  "  cried  Moham- 
med, in  derisive  tones.  "  He  acts  as  though  he  were  confer- 
ring a  favor  in  accepting  that  for  which  another  would  give 
his  heart's  blood." 

"  Would  you,  Mohammed  ? "  asked  Osman,  smiling. 

"  I  would  give  my  blood,  drop  by  drop,  only  retaining 
enough  to  sustain  life.  Oh,  to  live  there  !  To  go  to  Egypt  as 
the  grand-sultan's  pacha,  to  rule  in  that  beautiful  land,  to 
make  the  rebels,  the  Mamelukes,  and  the  beys,  bow  down  in 
the  dust  !  To  vanquish  them  all,  Osman,  this  is  my  dream  of 
bliss,  this  is — but  no,  I  am  still  the  same  foolish  boy,  dreaming 
of  impossibilities  !  See,  there  come  those  of  whom  we  have 
been  speaking,"  raising  his  hand  and  pointing  to  the  hall-way. 
"  There  comes  the  tschorbadji  with  Cousrouf  Pacha.  Let  me 
go  now,  Osman  ;  it  is  unpleasant  to  be  in  the  vicinity  of  this 
haughty  man  ;  my  heart  always  fiercely  resents  his  insolence  ! 
Let  me  go  ! " 

Osman  held  him  back.  "  See,  they  are  looking  at  us,  Mo- 
hammed. If  you  should  go  now,  it  would  look  as  though  you 
desired  to  avoid  my  father  also,  and  that  you  assuredly  do  not 
wish.  Moreover,  the  haughty  gentleman  might  think  that 
respect  for  him  made  you  run  away,  as  the  lizard  flees  before 
the  footstep  of  man.  Stay  !  " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Mohammed,  "  I  shall  stay." 

He  straightened  himself  up,  threw  his  head  back  proudly, 
folded  his  arms  on  his  breast,  and  stood  beside  his  friend's 
couch,  gazing  composedly  at  the  two  gentlemen  who  were  ad- 
vancing toward  them,  followed  by  a  number  of  slaves. 

As  they  came  nearer,  the  tschorbadji  stepped  hastily  for- 


COUSROUF  PACHA.  89 

ward  to  greet  his  son  with  loving,  tender  words.  Mohammed 
inclined  his  head  with  profound  reverence  before  the  father 
of  his  beloved  friend.  He  then  raised  his  head  again,  and 
firmly  met  the  glance  of  the  haughty  Cousrouf  Pacha,  with- 
out any  manifestation  of  deference  whatever.  The  latter 
stepped  forward,  and  greeted  Osinan  with  friendly  words  ;  he 
then  turned,  and  fixed  his  dark-gray  eyes  on  the  young  man 
who  stood  beside  him,  awaiting  his  deferential  salutation. 

But  Mohammed  did  not  salute  him.  He  still  stood  erect, 
his  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  beside  his  friend's  couch. 

The  pacha  slowly  turned  to  the  governor.  "Tell  me, 
tschorbadji,  who  is  this  person  ?  Your  slave,  is  he  not  ? " 

"  No,"  cried  Osman,  rising  partially  from  his  couch,  and 
anticipating  his  father's  reply.  "  No,  your  excellency,  he  is 
not  our  slave,  but  my  friend,  my  beloved  friend,  Mohammed 
Ali." 

"  Your  friend  !  A  great  honor  for  such  a  lad,  too  great  an 
honor,  I  should  think,"  said  Cousrouf  Pacha,  directing  a  fierce 
glance  at  Mohammed,  who  still  stood  erect  beside  him. 

"  Why  should  your  excellency  think  so  ? "  asked  he  in 
sharp,  almost  threatening  tones.  "  Why  is  it  too  great  an 
honor  that  the  son  of  the  tschorbadji  calls  me  his  friend  ? 
Has  it  not  occurred  that  aristocratic  gentlemen  have  elevated 
to  an  equality  with  themselves,  and  made  friends  even  of, 
slaves,  and  purchased  boys  ?  I  remember  hearing  the  scha-er 
tell  of  a  Circassian  slave  whom  the  grand-admiral,  at  Stamboul, 
purchased,  and  subsequently  called  his  friend.  He  was  not 
ashamed  of  him,  although  the  lad  called  Cousrouf  was,  after 
all,  only  a  slave." 

"  In  the  name  of  Allah,  I  pray  you,  be  still  ! "  cried  the 
tschorbadji,  looking  anxiously  at  Mohammed. 

"  And  why  should  he  be  still  ? "  asked  Cousrouf,  in  cold, 
cutting  tones.  "  He  is  merely  telling  a  story  learned  from 
the  scha-er.  You  know,  tschorbadji,  it  is  customary  to  pay 
story-tellers,  and  give  them  a  piaster. — Here,  take  your  pay, 
you  little  scha-er." 

The  pacha  drew  from  his  silken  purse,  filled  with  gold- 
pieces,  a  ducat,  and  threw  it  at  the  boy's  feet. 

Mohammed  uttered  a  cry  of  rage,  and  took  up  the  gold- 
7 


90  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

piece  as  though  he  intended  to  throw  it  in  the  pacha's  face. 
But  Osman  held  his  hand,  and  begged  him  in  a  low  voice  to 
be  composed. 

Mohammed  struggled  to  compose  himself.  His  face  was 
pale,  his  lips  trembled,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  with  wrath  and 
hatred,  as  he  glanced  at  the  pacha  ;  then  his  countenance  be- 
came firm  and  composed.  He  beckoned  to  a  slave  who  stood 
at  a  distance,  to  approach,  and  threw  him  the  gold-piece. 
''  The  slave  gives  the  slave  his  reward.  Take  it,  thou  slave  ! " 

A  moment  of  silence  and  anxious  suspense  intervened,  and 
then  Mohammed's  and  the  pacha's  eyes  met  again  in  a  fierce, 
piercing  glance.  The  pacha  then  turned,  and  addressed  the 
tschorbadji  : 

"  If  he  were  my  servant,"  said  he,  "  I  should  have  him 
taken  out  to  the  court-yard  for  his  insolence.  If  he  there  re- 
ceived, as  he  richly  deserves,  the  bastinado,  I  think  he  would 
soon  become  humble  and  quiet.  The  viper  bites  no  longer 
when  its  fangs  are  extracted. — I  tell  you,  tschorbadji,  if  he 
were  my  servant,  he  should  now  receive  the  bastinado." 

"  And  if  you  were  my  servant,"  exclaimed  Mohammed, 
haughtily,  "  I  should  treat  you  in  precisely  the  same  manner, 
sir.  The  bastinado  is  very  painful,  I  am  told,  and  you  prob- 
ably know  it  by  personal  experience.  But  this  you  should 
know,  too,  sir,  that  here  on  the  peninsula  of  Contessa,  slaves 
only  are  chastised,  and  slaves  only  receive  the  bastinado. 
I,  however,  have  never  been  a  slave,  but  always  a  free  man  ; 
and  what  I  am  and  shall  be,  I  am,  I  am  proud  to  say,  through 
myself  alone.  I  have  not  been  bought  and  bargained  for, 
and  I  sleep  better  in  my  dark  little  hut  than  others  who  were 
once  slaves,  and  who,  having  risen  through  the  favor  of  their 
masters,  now  repose  on  silken  couches." 

*'  Tschorbadji  Hassan  ! "  cried  Cousrouf,  pale  with  anger, 
and  hardly  capable  of  restraining  himself  from  striking  the 
bold  youth  in  the  face  with  his  own  fist — "  Tschorbadji  Hassan, 
you  shall  punish  the  insolence  of  this  servant  who  dares  to 
insult  me,  Cousrouf  Pacha.  I  demand  of  you  punishment  for 
this  insolence." 

"  I  have  broken  no  law,  and  there  is  no  law  that  condemns 
me  to  punishment,"  said  Mohammed,  firmly  and  composedly. 


COUSROUF   PACHA.  91 

"  Your  excellency  does  me  the  honor  to  dispute  with  me,  that 
is  all.  With  us  punishment  is  meted  out  according  to  the 
law  only,  and  not  at  the  pleasure  of  every  grand  gentleman." 

The  tschorbadji  stepped  up  to  Cousrouf  Pacha,  and  earn- 
estly conjured  him  to  show  mercy  to  his  son's  friend,  for  his 
sake. 

"  Consider  that  Osman  is  my  only  child,  and  my  only  hap- 
piness. Consider  that  he  loves  Mohammed  as  if  he  were  a 
brother.  The  physicians  say  he  would  die  if  separated  from 
Mohammed.  Be  merciful,  and  forgive  the  insolence  provoked 
by  your  own  overbearing  words.  I  entreat  you  to  be  merci- 
ful, and  to  come  away  with  me." 

He  took  Cousrouf's  arm  in  his  own,  and  drew  him  away, 
almost  forcibly  entreating  him,  with  all  the  anxiety  of  a 
father's  heart,  to  forgive  the  uncultured  youth,  who  knew 
nothing  of  becoming  deportment  and  polished  manners.  He 
was  an  untamed  lion,  unfamiliar  with  the  gentle  ways  of  the 
domestic  animals. 

"  And  yet  I  wish  I  had  this  young  lion  in  my  power,"  said 
Cousrouf,  gnashing  his  teeth  with  rage,  as  he  followed  the 
governor.  "  I  should  extract  his  teeth,  and  prove  to  the  mon- 
ster that  he  was  not  a  lion,  but  only  a  miserable  cat,  to  be 
trodden  under  my  feet  !  " 

The  tschorbadji  drew  him  away  more  rapidly,  that  Moham- 
med might  not  hear  him.  He  had  looked  back  and  perceived 
that  Mohammed  was  standing  still,  gazing  at  them  with  a 
threatening  eye,  and,  in  reality  with  the  bearing  of  a  lion  pre- 
pared for  the  deadly  spring. 

When  they  had  disappeared,  Osman  rose  from  his  cush- 
ions, stood  up,  threw  his  arms  around  his  friend's  neck,  and 
kissed  his  quivering  lips. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  hero,  my  king,  my  lion  !  You  stood 
there  like  David  before  Goliath,  and  overthrew  him  in  the 
dust.  You  made  the  insolent  giant  small,  you  hero.  I  thank 
you,  my  Mohammed  ! " 


92  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  REVOLT. 

THE  great  square  which  lay  in  the  centre  of  the  village  of 
Praousta  resounded  with  wild  outcries  and  clamorings.  All 
the  men  of  the  place  had  assembled  by  the  sea-shore  ;  they 
were  generally  honest,  peaceful  sailors,  but  to-day  they  were 
raging  rebels  roused  to  revolt  against  those  in  authority,  and 
refusing  obedience  to  the  tschorbadji. 

Two  pale,  trembling  men  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  revolt- 
ing crowd.  They  were  evidently  Turks,  by  their  closely-fitting 
uniforms,  and  the  scarlet  fez  on  their  heads  ;  the  short  arms 
which  hung  at  their  sides  showed  them  to  be  the  kavassen,  or 
the  collectors  of  the  tschorbadji. 

These  collectors  were  always  an  abomination  to  the  people 
of  Praousta  ;  they  greeted  them  constantly  with  murmuring 
when  they  came  to  collect  the  taxes,  and  often,  before  now, 
the  appeasing,  tranquillizing  words  of  the  sheik  had  alone  se- 
cured the  payment  of  the  sums  demanded.  To-day,  however, 
their  long-restrained  indignation  had  broken  forth.  To-day, 
although  tbe  sea  was  so  still  and  peaceful,  no  one  had  gone 
out  to  fish,  for  it  had  been  fully  determined  that  on  this  day 
they  would  refuse  the  demands  of  the  governor's  collectors. 
The  collectors  had  gone  to  the  village,  suspecting  nothing. 
The  assessment  had  been  brought  by  one  of  them  several  days 
before  to  the  sheik,  who  had  received  it  with  a  very  troubled 
countenance. 

"  A  double  tax  ! "  he  had  said  ;  "  that  will  be  most  unwel- 
come to  the  men  of  Praousta." 

The  messenger  of  the  tschorbadji  merely  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  They  will  pay  it,  nevertheless,  as  the  men  in 
Cavalla  and  other  places  have  done.  The  money  must  be  col- 
lected." Then,  with  the  haughty  bearing  which  the  officials 
of  the  tschorbadji  always  assumed,  he  retired. 

The  sheik  called  together  a  council  of  the  oldest  men  of  the 
village  and  the  ulemas,  and  informed  them  that  the  tschor- 
badji was  compelled  to  lay  a  double  tax  on  thein  at  this  time, 


THE  REVOLT.  93 

because,  although  his  own  expenses  had  been  greater,  he  was 
obliged  to  forward  the  usual  amount  to  Stamboul.  New 
roads  had  been  built  ;  besides  that,  the  tobacco-crop  had  failed, 
and  new  public  buildings  had  been  erected.  All  these  ex- 
penses must  be  met,  as  well  as  the  full  amount  for  Stamboul, 
which  must  on  no  account  be  lessened. 

The  men  had  declared  at  once,  with  angry  words,  that  they 
would  never  pay  the  tax.  On  the  morning  of  the  day  when 
the  two  collectors  came  from  Cavalla,  the  men  of  the  village 
assembled  in  the  square  as  they  had  determined  to  do,  and 
greeted  them  with  loud  and  angry  clamorings. 

"  We  will  pay  no  double  tax,"  cried  Abdallah,  the  leader 
of  the  fishermen.  "  It  is  quite  enough  that  we  are  obliged  to 
pay  any  tax.  What  do  the  grand -sultan  and  his  ministers  do 
for  us  ?  Not  one  of  them  aids  us  when  our  crops  fail  or  when 
we  suffer  from  other  misfortunes.  When  we  have  double 
crops,  must  we  not  always  pay  a  double  tax  ?  But  this  year 
we  have  not  even  good  crops.  Our  tobacco-crops  have  failed  ; 
our  fishing-nets,  with  all  the  fish  we  had  taken,  have  been  lost 
in  the  storms.  Tell  us,  then,  for  what  reasons  we  must  pay  a 
double  tax  ? " 

"The  reasons,  my  dear  fishermen,"  said  the  collectors — 
"the  reasons  are,  that  the  tschorbadji  commands  it,  and  his 
commands  must  be  obeyed,  because  the  grand-sultan  has  made 
him  your  governor." 

"  If  those  were  reasons,"  shrieked  the  fishermen,  "  the  tschor- 
badji could  drive  us  from  our  huts,  and  take  from  us  all  that  is 
ours.  Those  are  no  reasons  ;  no,  we  will  not  pay  the  tax  !  " 

"  You  must,  and  you  will  ! "  cried  the  second  officer. 

That  was  the  signal  for  all  the  men  to  draw  their  knives 
with  lightning-speed  from  their  belts.  They  brandished  them 
in  their  fists,  pressing  from  all  sides  upon  the  two  officers,  and 
swearing  to  kill  them  if  they  did  not  go  at  once  to  Cavalla  and 
announce  what  had  occurred  here. 

Some  of  the  men  rushed  off  to  the  dwelling  of  the  sheik, 
while  others  hastened  to  bring  the  ulemas  to  the  square. 

"  Are  we  to  pay  the  double  tax,  sheik  ?  Speak  for  us  ; 
tell  the  officers  what  answer  they  must  take  to  the  tschor- 
badji." 


94;  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

The  sheik  bowed  kindly  on  every  side  as  he  made  his  way 
through  the  circle  of  armed  men.  All  was  profound  silence 
as  he  came  before  the  two  officers,  and  all  present  listened  in 
breathless  silence  to  his  words. 

"  Lo,  ye  servants  of  justice  ! "  exclaimed  the  sheik  in  a 
solemn  voice,  "  I  say,  go  up  to  the  city,  and  inform  the  tschor- 
badji that  he  has  demanded  more  than  is  just  of  the  men  of 
Praousta." 

An  overwhelming,  thundering  huzza  interrupted  the 
sheik. 

"Speak  on,"  was  then  the  cry.  "Let  us  hear  what  the 
good  sheik  has  to  say  to  us  ! " 

Once  more  there  was  breathless  silence,  and  the  sheik  pro- 
ceeded in  solemn  tones : 

"State  to  the  tschorbadji  that,  by  the  will  of  Allah,  we 
have  been  pursued  by  storms  and  misfortunes.  We  submit 
to  the  will  of  Allah,  and  pray  to  the  prophet,  to  implore  him 
to  be  merciful  to  us.  If  he  hears  our  prayers,  and  the  next 
harvest  is  blessed,  and  the  fish  are  plentiful  in  our  nets,  and  if 
then  the  purses  of  the  people  of  Praousta  are  again  filled,  they 
will  gladly  pay  the  tschorbadji  the  accustomed  tax,  but  not  a 
double  tax." 

"  No,  not  a  double  tax  ! "  shrieked  the  men.  "  We  must 
pay,  that  the  tschorbadji  may  live  in  pride  and  splendor  with 
his  aristocratic  guest,  who  keeps  a  harem,  and  has  himself 
borne  about  in  a  palanquin,  or  rides  a  splendid  horse  through 
the  streets,  while  we  have  to  content  ourselves  with  humbly 
walking.  No,  we  pay  no  more  for  the  tschorbadji  and  his 
aristocratic  guest.  Long  live  our  sheik,  who  stands  by  us  ! 
Go  up,  officers,  and  deliver  the  message  he  has  given  you." 

The  officers,  frightened  and  trembling,  were  well  pleased 
to  escape  unharmed  from  the  raging  crowd.  They  passed 
hurriedly  through  the  narrow  passage  which  was  opened  for 
them  on  the  way  toward  Cavalla. 

"  Long  live  our  sheik  !  Allah  be  praised  for  him  !  "  cried 
the  men,  raising  him  and  the  three  ulemas,  in  their  enthusi- 
asm, on  their  shoulders,  and  carrying  them  to  their  dwell- 
ings. 

"  You  stood  by  us,  O  sheik,  and  we  wish  to  thank  you,"  said 


THE  REVOLT.  95 

Abdallah,  speaking  for  all,  when  they  had  put  the  sheik  down 
before  his  house. 

"  I  stand  by  you,"  answered  the  sheik,  giving  his  hand  to 
all,  "  but  you  must  stand  by  each  other.  We  have  held  a 
council  through  the  entire  night,  and  we  have  concluded  that 
the  demand  is  unjust,  and  have  therefore,  in  the  name  of  the 
people,  declined  to  meet  it.  Now,  however,  you  must  not  be 
intimidated  ;  you  must  be  firm.  Then  no  one  will  dare  to 
molest  us." 

"  We  will  be  firm  in  what  we  have  determined,  and  not 
give  way,"  cried  they  all.  "Long  live  the  sheik  and  the 
ulemas  ! " 

"  Now  return  quietly  to  your  houses,  and  wait  to  see  what 
the  tschorbadji  will  do,"  said  the  sheik.  "  We  shall  see  if  he 
is  content  with  your  refusal." 

The  men  obeyed  the  order  of  the  sheik,  and  went  to  their 
huts,  to  await  there  the  next  movement. 

The  two  officers  returned,  with  rapid  steps,  to  Cavalla. 

The  governor  was  seated  in  the  hall,  with  his  favorite,  his 
Osman,  by  whose  side  was  Mohammed,  who  had  yielded  to 
the  entreaties  of  his  friend,  and  spent  the  last  few  months  with 
him. 

Osman  considered  it  a  great  kindness  that  Mohammed  had, 
at  last,  agreed  to  his  wishes,  and  had  remained  with  him  at 
night.  When  the  governor  looked  joyfully  at  his  son,  and 
said  he  had  never  seen  him  so  gay  and  happy,  Osman  smiled 
and  nodded  toward  Mohammed.  "You  should  thank  Mo- 
hammed ;  as  long  as  he  remains  in  our  house,  the  air  seems 
purer  and  fresher  to  me.  He  alone  understands  how  to  make 
me  well,  and,  if  I  could  always  have  him  with  me,  I  would  be 
the  happiest  of  men." 

The  tschorbadji  offered  his  hand  to  Mohammed,  bowing 
and  smiling  kindly.  "  Mohammed,  I  wish  you  would,  at  last, 
yield  to  the  united  prayers  of  my  son  and  myself,  and  would 
consent  to  live  in  this  house.  Let  me  have  two  sons,  and  I 
shall  be  doubly  rich." 

"  In  veneration  I  will  be  your  son,"  replied  Mohammed, 
pressing  the  governor's  hand  to  his  brow;  "I  will  obey  you 
in  all  things  !  One  thing  alone  do  not  demand — that  I  shall 


96  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

irrevocably  relinquish  my  freedom.  Let  me  come  and  go  at 
my  pleasure.  Love  always  draws  me  back  to  my  Osman, 
even  when,  in  the  restlessness  of  my  heart,  I  wander  on  the 
sea,  or  in  the  mountains,  or  remain  solitary  in  my  silent  hut. 
Friendship  for  you  has  bound  chains  about  my  soul,  and  I 
must  always  return.  Leave  to  me  the  feeling  of  independence, 
or  I  shall  not  be  happy." 

Osman  nodded  smilingly  to  him.  "  It  shall  be  as  you  wish, 
and  we  will  never  weary  him  again,  my  father,  with  our 
prayers.  He  will  return  to  us,  he  says,  and  Mohammed  al- 
ways keeps  his  word.  — But  look,  father  !  What  can  be  the 
matter  with  these  two  officers  who  are  hurrying  toward  us  !  " 

"  They  seem  to  have  met  with  some  misfortune  ;  they  look 
pale  and  excited,  and  are  coming  here  without  being  an- 
nounced," he  said,  rising  from  his  cushions,  and  beckoning  to 
the  collectors,  who  had  remained  respectfully  standing  at  the 
entrance,  to  come  forward. — "  Well,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You 
look  as  disturbed  as  if  something  dreadful  had  happened  to 
you  ! " 

"  Yes,  governor,  something  dreadful  has  happened,"  they 
answered,  bowing  deeply.  "  We  have  been  down  to  Praousta, 
as  your  excellency  ordered,  to  collect  the  double  tax." 

"  And  you  have  brought  the  gold  with  you,  and  given  it  to 
my  treasurer  ? " 

"  No,  we  have  not  brought  it !  " 

"  Not  brought  it ! "  exclaimed  the  tschorbadji,  with  the  ut- 
most astonishment ;  "  I  send  you  to  collect  the  taxes,  and  you 
return  without  the  money  !  Have  thieves  fallen  upon  you, 
and  robbed  you  ?  My  collectors  have  allowed  the  gold  to  be 
taken  from  them,  and  now  dare  to  appear,  empty-handed,  be- 
fore me  ! " 

''  O  governor,  we  are  innocent,"  replied  the  men  ;  "  no 
thieves  took  the  money  from  us,  but  the  men  of  Praousta  have 
revolted  ;  they  have  assembled  together  in  the  market-place, 
and  have  solemnly  declared  that  they  will  never  pay  the 
double  tax  ! " 

While  they  were  making  their  report,  Mohammed  sprung 
from  his  seat,  and  listened  breathlessly  to  them. 

"  They  refused  to  pay  the  tax,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  in  an 


THE  REVOLT.  97 

angry  voice.  "And  did  you  not  go  to  the  sheik  and  ule- 
mas  ? " 

"  The  men  of  Praousta  went  themselves,  and  brought  out 
the  sheik  and  the  ulemas,  that  they  might  speak  decisively  for 
all.  We  were  to  take  their  answer  to  the  tschorbadji." 

"  And  they  did  this  ? "  cried  Mohammed,  forgetting  all 
proper  reverence,  and  speaking  to  the  men  in  the  presence  of 
the  governor. 

"Yes,  they  did  this,"  returned  the  collectors,  breathing 
hard. 

"  What  did  they  say  ! "  demanded  the  tschorbadji,  ex- 
citedly. •> 

"  The  sheik  looked  at  us  contemptuously,  and  ordered  us  to 
state  to  the  tschorbadji  that  Praousta  had  no  thought  of  pay- 
ing either  the  double  or  the  simple  tax." 

"  And  the  ulemas  ?  "  asked  Osman,  rising  from  his  couch, 
"  did  they  confirm  what  the  sheik  said  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  they  confirmed  what  the  sheik  said,"  answered 
the  collectors. 

"  It  is  then  an  open  revolt,"  cried  the  outraged  tschorbadji. 
"  They  refuse  obedience  to  my  commands  !  " 

"  Yes,  they  refuse  to  obey  you  !  "  repeated  the  collectors. 
"  Every  fisherman  has  armed  himself  with  sword  and  knife, 
and  swears  to  die  sooner  than  pay  this  unjust  tax,  as  they 
call  it." 

"And  you  allowed  yourselves  to, be  frightened  by  such 
words,"  cried  Mohammed,  with  flaming  eyes.  "  And  you  did 
not  fall  upon  them,  sword  in  hand,  to  force  them  to  their 
duty  ! " 

"  We  were  but  two  against  fifty  ! " 

"  Two  men  against  fifty  cowards  !  I  should  think  the  men 
would  have  carried  the  day.  But  you  are  not  men  ;  you  did 
not  even  draw  your  swords  and  fell  this  seditious  sheik  to  the 
earth  ! " 

"  The  people  would  have  torn  us  .to  pieces  ! "  exclaimed  the 
collectors,  "if  we  had  attempted  it." 

"You  would  have  perished  in  the  fulfilment  of  your 
duty  ! "  cried  Mohammed.  "  Far  better  that,  than  to  return 
home  with  the  knowledge  that  you  had  acted  as  cowards  ! " 


98  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

Osman  looked  wonderingly  at  bis  friend,  while  the  tschor- 
badji  stood  lost  in  thought,  his  countenance  growing  darker 
and  darker. 

"  This  is  revolt — rebellion  ! "  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "What 
shall  I  do  ?  The  men  of  Praousta  are  remarkable  for  their 
strength,  as  well  as  for  their  free  and  independent  opinions." 

He  ordered  the  collectors  to  leave  the  room,  and  await  his 
call  without ;  then  paced  thoughtfully  up  and  down.  The 
two  young  men  dared  not  disturb  him. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  do,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence. 
"  I  have  no  military  force,  and  in  Praousta  dwell  more  than 
fifty^brave,  bold  men.  You  know  I  have  only  fifty  collectors 
in  my  service  in  all  the  districts  of  the  peninsula.  I  do  not 
know  where  to  begin  ;  even  if  I  had  the  men,  I  would  very 
unwillingly  use  force.  I  believe  the  best  thing  I  can  do  would 
be  to  go  down,  with  a  few  servants,  to  the  village,  and  seek, 
by  kind  words,  to  quiet  the  people,  and  induce  them  to  pay 
the  tax.  What  do  you  think,  my  son,  Osman  ? " 

Mohammed  listened,  with  flashing  eyes,  to  the  tschorbadji ; 
and  breathlessly  awaited  Osman's  answer.  But  Osman  only 
looked  at  his  friend,  and  said  to  his  father,  "  Ask  Mohammed 
what  he  thinks." 

"Well,  then,  you  speak,  Mohammed,"  said  the  tschorbadji ; 
"  what  do  you  think  of  my  proposition  ? " 

"  I  think  that  such  a  thing  should  never  be  permitted.  It 
does  not  become  you  to  go  and  beg,  when  you  should  com- 
mand, governor,"  he  cried.  "  Will  you  empower  me  to  collect 
the  tax?" 

"  How  will  you  do  it  ?  "  asked  the  tschorbadji,  with  a  doubt- 
ing smile. 

"  That  is  my  secret,  governor.  Give  me  authority  to  treat 
with  the  rebels,  and  give  me,  in  addition,  two  collectors  and 
six  armed  soldiers." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  small  body-guard.  They  are  eight  in 
number,  and  I  give  you  full  authority  to  collect  the  tax." 

"  I  thank  you,  governor,"  cried  Mohammed,  with  a  beam- 
ing face.  "  You  have  given  me  a  weighty  commission,  and 
you  shall  see  that  I  will  justify  the  confidence  you  place  in 
me.  I  will  go  at  once." 


THE  REVOLT.  99 

"  Do  so,  and  I  will  order  my  men  to  obey  you  in  all 
things,"  said  the  tschorbadji. 

"  Farewell,  my  Osman,"  cried  Mohammed — his  whole  being 
as  full  of  energy  and  determination  as  if  he  were  going  to 
battle.-  He  bowed  smilingly  to  his  friend,  and  passed  from 
the  hall  with  a  firm  step. 

The  collectors  received  the  tschorbadji's  order,  to  return  to 
Praousta  with  Mohammed,  with  bowed  heads  and  anxious 
countenances. 

"  They  will  murder  us  !  "  groaned  one  of  them.  "  They 
are  all  armed  with  swords  and  knives,  and  they  will  tear  our 
arms  from  us  at  once." 

"  If  they  should  tear  your  arms  from  you,  and  you  do  not 
fall  upon  them,  with  tooth  and  nail,"  cried  Mohammed,  with 
determined  look,  "  you  are  nothing  but  cowards,  and  I  will 
kill  you  with  my  own  hand  ! " 

The  tschorbadji  had,  in  the  mean  time,  called  his  small 
body-guard  together,  and  commanded  them  to  go  down  to 
Praousta  with  Mohammed,  and  to  obey  him  in  all  things. 

"  Come,  then,  my  men,  let  us  go,"  cried  Mohammed. 

The  tschorbadji  detained  him  a  moment.  "  Will  you  not 
take  a  weapon — you  are  entirely  unarmed  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  will  take  a  weapon.  Not  that  I  fear  for  myself  ; 
no,  I  have  no  fear  ;  but  I  will  make  one  more  combatant 
against  the  rebels.  Give  me  a  sword  and  a  pistol." 

The  tschorbadji  himself  brought  both  to  him,  and  then 
bade  him  farewell. 

Mohammed,  at  the  head  of  the  eight  soldiers  and  the  two 
collectors,  went  down  the  mountain-path  to  the  village. 

There  every  thing  had  become  quiet.  Obeying  the  words 
of  the  sheik,  the  men  had  gone  to  their  huts,  and  did  not  see 
that  Mohammed  and  his  followers  had  entered  the  great 
mosque,  which  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  village.  Then  Mo- 
hammed bowed  down  within  the  holy  of  holies,  and,  turning 
his  head  toward  Mecca,  prayed  in  a  low  voice  to  the  prophet : 
"  Thou  seest,  my  lord  and  God,  that  1  have  raised  my  foot  to 
take  the  first  step  on  the  way  to  my  great  future.  Uphold  my 
feet — let  me  not  fall  into  the  abyss  of  forgetful  ness.  Give  me 
strength,  that  I  may  go  forward  without  fainting.  Be  with 


100  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

me,  Mohammed,  thou  great  prophet.     Permit  thy  stars  to  be  a 
light  unto  me,  and  be  merciful  to  the  poorest  of  thy  servants  ! " 

Then,  raising  himself  proudly  up,  he  ordered  the  soldiers 
to  close  three  of  the  entrances  of  the  mosque,  and  to  leave  only 
the  principal  door  open. 

"  Now  draw  your  swords.  Four  of  you  remain  with  me  in 
the  mosque — the  four  others  go  down  to  the  sheik  and  the 
ulenias.  Inform  them  that  an  ambassador  has  come  from  the 
tschorbadji,  to  bring  them  an  important  message.  Each  of 
you  three  must  bring  one  of  the  ulemas  with  you,  and  the 
fourth  must  bring  the  sheik  here  to  me.  Go  at  once,  and  re- 
turn quickly. — And  you,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  four  who  re- 
mained behind,  "swear  to  me,  in  the  name  of  Allah  and  the 
prophet,  that  you  will  be  hewn  in  pieces  sooner  than  yield  to 
the  rebels  ! " 

They  all  swore,  placing  their  hands  upon  their  swords,  that 
they  would  be  hewn  in  pieces  sooner  than  yield.  Mohammed 
nodded  graciously  to  them. 

"  Good  !  When  the  soldiers  bring  the  men  we  will  sur- 
round them,  and  the  rest  will  follow." 

Their  hands  upon  their  swords,  the  soldiers  stood  waiting 
beside  the  door. 

Mohammed  remained  silent  and  thoughtful  in  the  middle 
of  the  mosque.  He  felt  that  a  great,  an  important  moment 
had  come  for  him.  He  thought  of  his  mother.  '*  She  hovers 
over  me  ;  she  looks  down,  and  sees  her  son  enter  on  a  new 
life.  When  I  leave  the  mosque,  I  will  be  no  longer  the  poor, 
despised  boy  ;  I  will  have  proved  myself  a  man.  O  my 
mother,  look  down  on  me,  and  pray  to  Allah  to  be  merciful 
to  me  ! " 

A  dark  shadow  crossed  the  rays  of  the  sun  which  fell 
through  the  open  door.  It  was  one  of  the  soldiers  who  came 
in  with  the  sheik. 

Mohammed  did  not  step  forward  to  meet  him,  as  he  should 
have  done,  out  of  respect  for  the  old  man,  with  his  white 
beard.  To-day  he  was  no  longer  the  poor  boy,  who  must  b6w 
down  before  his  superiors.  He  was  himself  one  of  the  powers 
that  be.  He  held  his  head  aloft  while  the  sheik  approached. 

"  I  was  summoned  in  the  name  of  the  tschorbadji,"  said  the 


THE   REVOLT. 

sheik,  looking  with  astonishment  at  Mohammed.  "  It  is  very 
strange  that  I  find  here  110  one  hut  Mohammed  Ali,  the  son  of 
Ibrahim  Aga.  Had  I  known  that  the  tschorbadji  had  sent  a 
boy  to  me,  I  would  have  required  him  to  bring  me  the  mes- 
sage." 

"  I  summoned  you  in  the  name  of  the  tschorbadji,  and  in 
his  name  I  stand  here  ! "  said  Mohammed,  proudly.  "  I  am 
not  a  boy,  as  you  are  pleased  to  call  me,  but  an  acknowledged 
authority.  I  have  received  my  authority  from  the  tschorbadji, 
and  I  demand  submission  from  you  !  " 

"  Submission  to  you  ! "  exclaimed  the  sheik,  with  a  con- 
temptuous glance. 

Mohammed's  eyes  flashed  fiercely,  as  he  placed  his  hand 
threateningly  on  his  pistol. 

"  Yes,  you  the  sheik,  must  yield  to  me.  See  !  there  are  the 
others  who  dared  to  revolt. — Guard  the  sheik  well,  you  men  ; 
the  ulemas  also  !  " 

The  latter  had  now  approached,  accompanied  by  the  sol- 
diers, and  Mohammed  informed  them  that  he,  in  the  name  of 
the  tschorbadji,  insisted  upon  their  gathering  in  the  taxes. 

"We  cannot  and  will  not  do  it!"  answered  the  sheik, 
proudly.  "  It  is  an  injustice  to  demand  the  double  tax,  and  it 
would  be  folly  to  pay  it.  It  is  our  duty  to  protect  the  com- 
munity, and  we  will  do  it ! " 

"  Well,  do  as  you  will  !  "  cried  Mohammed,  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  Who  dares  to  preach  rebellion  shall  surely  die  ! — 
Hold  fast  these  rebels,  my  men,  bind  their  hands  behind  their 
backs  with  their  own  scarfs,  and  lead  them  to  the  governor's 
house.  There  let  their  heads  fall,  that  all  may  know  how 
justice  punishes  the  rebellious." 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  cried  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas.     "  Help  !  " 

Their  cries  resounded  far  and  wide,  and,  while  the  soldiers 
were  binding  the  ulemas  and  the  sheik  with  their  own  scarfs, 
the  armed  people  came  pressing  forward  to  the  open  door  of 
the  mosque. 

Mohammed  looked  toward  them  with  the  raging  glance  of 
a  lion. 

"  Who  enters  here,  meets  his  death  ! "  he  cried,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  The  men  without  shrunk  back  before  the  soldiers' 


102  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

gleaming  weapons,  and  hastened  to  the  other  doors,  but  they 
found  them  all  closed,  only  the  one  entrance  was  open,  the  one 
at  which  the  collectors  stood. 

Within  lay  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas,  all  bound,  upon  their 
knees,  praying  the  men  of  Praousta  to  come  to  their  help. 
The  men  sought  once  more  to  storm  the  entrance,  and  once 
more  they  were  repulsed. 

"  I  swear,  by  Allah  and  the  prophet,  that  the  rebels  shall 
die  if  they  do  not  submit  !  "  cried  Mohammed,  aloud.  "  Place 
your  daggers  at  their  breasts." 

The  soldiers  did  as  they  were  ordered,  and  their  prisoners 
lay,  with  widely-extended  eyes,  and  shrieks  on  their  parted 
lips  which  they  dared  not  utter,  for  fear  the  sword-points 
would  pierce  their  breasts.  Mohammed  stood  erect  beside 
them,  his  hand  on  his  sword. 

Suddenly  a  piercing,  terrific  cry  arose  from  the  midst  of 
the  crowd,  and  a  slender  female  figure,  clad  entirely  in  white, 
the  face  concealed  by  a  veil,  rushed  into  the  mosque.  The 
soldiers  dared  not  repulse  her  as  they  had  done  the  men,  as  she 
flew  past  them  toward  that  dreadful  group. 

"  My  father,  my  father  ! "  she  cries,  in  wildly-imploring 
tones.  "  If  you  must  die,  I  will  die  with  you  ! " 

A  strange  tremor  seizes  on  Mohammed ;  that  wonderful 
voice  thrills  him  to  his  very  heart. 

The  veiled  one  sinks  down  at  his  feet,  and  raises  her  arms 
pleadingly  to  him. 

"  If  you  kill  him,  kill  me  also  ! " 

In  her  passionate  gestures  she  seizes  her  veil  with  her 
clasped  hands  and  tears  it  from  her  face. 

Mohammed  saw  now  for  the  first  time  the  youthful  and 
beautiful  face  of  the  fair  girl  who  was  called  the  "  Flower  of 
Praousta."  Her  great  black  eyes  were  fastened  imploringly 
on  his.  Her  scarlet  lips  quivered  as  she  repeated,  "  Oh,  kill  him 
not,  but,  if  you  must,  then  let  me  die  with  him  ! " 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  felt  some  witchcraft  at  work,  then 
suddenly  bent  down  and  drew  the  veil  over  her  face,  as  if  he 
dared  no  longer  look  on  her  beauty. 

"  Leave  this  place,  I  do  not  fight  with  women,"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  sounded  almost  like  that  of  a  man. 


THE  REVOLT.  103 

"  Be  merciful,"  she  prayed,  but  there  was  a  change  in  her 
voice  also,  it  was  no  longer  so  humble,  but  trembled  with  in- 
ward emotion. 

He  turned  from  her. 

"Return  to  your  home,"  he  said,  in  a  commanding  voice. 
"  First,  however,  tell  your  father  that  he  must  submit  himself, 
and  prevail  upon  these  rebels  to  become  obedient.  If  he  suc- 
ceeds, I  swear,  in  the  name  of  Allah,  that  he  shall  return  with 
you  to  his  home.  Speak  to  him,  and  prove  the  power  of  your 
words." 

''Return,  Masa,"  said  the  sheik,  in  an  unfaltering  voice. 
'"  It  was  most  improper  for  you  to  come  here.  You  did  it  from 
love  to  me,  therefore  it  must  be  pardoned.  Now,  however,  I 
order  you  to  go  home,  and  remain  there,  as  it  becomes  a  wom- 
an. I,  however,  praise  Allah ;  he  alone  must  decide  my 
fate,  and  the  fate  of  all." 

"  No,  father,  I  cannot  leave  you,"  cried  Masa,  breathlessly, 
pressing  her  father's  hands  to  her  lips.  "  Remember,  you  are 
the  lord  of  my  life,  the  light  of  my  eyes  !  Remember  that  I 
have  no  one  but  you  in  all  the  world,  and  that  your  Masa  is 
as  solitary  as  in  a  wilderness  when  you  are  not  beside  her. 
Remember  that,  O  my  father  !  " 

44  Enough  ! "  interrupted  Mohammed,  in  a  harsh  voice. 
44  Enough  words. — You  there,  you  men  of  Praousta,  will 
you  pay  the  tax,  the  double  tax,  as  the  tschorbadji  has  or- 
dered ? " 

The  men,  who  had  pressed  close  against  the  high  porch  out- 
side the  mosque,  remained  silent  for  a  moment  and  looked 
hesitatingly  before  them. 

4'  Will  you  pay  it  ? "  repeated  Mohammed.  44  You  will,  I 
am  sure." 

4'  No  ! "  cried  the  sheik,  aloud.  <4You  will  not,  you  shall 
not,  pay  this  tax  ! '' 

41  No,"  repeated  the  three  ulemas.  44  No,  you  will  not,  you 
shall  not,  pay  this  tax  ! " 

Then  suddenly,  as  if  inspired  by  the  bold  words  of  the  four 
prisoners,  the  men  held  themselves  more  erect,  and,  looking 
threateningly  at  Mohammed  and  at  the  soldiers,  repeated  what 
the  tilemas  had  said.  44  No,  we  will  not,  we  will  not  pay  the 


104:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

tschorbadji  the  double  tax  !  We  will  pay  neither  the  double 
nor  the  simple  tax  !  " 

"  Good  !  you  have  spoken,"  said  Mohammed.  "  Your  fate 
is  decided,  and  that  of  these  men  also  ! — Collectors,  lock  the 
door." 

Masa  uttered  a  cry,  and,  rushing  to  Mohammed,  clung1 
wildly  to  his  knees. 

u  Mercy,  lord,  have  mercy  !  Think  of  your  own  father, 
think  of  your  mother  !  If  you  have  a  mother  that  you  love, 
oh,  think  of  her  !  " 

He  pushed  her  roughly  and  hastily  from  him.  That  word 
pierced  his  heart  like  a  knife,  and  still  he  dared  not  listen 
to  it. 

There  was  a  threatening  murmur  among  the  men,  and 
several  sought  to  press  forward,  but  the  collectors  threat- 
ened them  with  instant  death  if  they  came  forward  a  single 
step. 

Two  of  the  soldiers  approached  the  young  girl  to  carry  her 
out. 

"  Let  no  one  dare  touch  me,  or  I  will  throw  myself  on  your 
swords  !  "  she  cried.  "  If  I  must  go,  I  will  do  so.  But  on  you 
be  the  blood  of  my  father  if  it  is  shed  !  I  tell  you,  if  you 
murder  him,  I  will  die  also  ;  and  if  you  have  a  father  or  a 
mother  in  heaven,  I  will  accuse  you,  young  man  ! " 

She  uttered  these  words  in  a  ringing  voice,  then  flew  to- 
ward the  door.  The  soldiers  pushed  her  out,  and  the  collectors 
threw  the  iron-bound  doors  together. 

"  Now  I  turn  to  you,"  said  Mohammed,  breathing  more 
freely,  and  looking  toward  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas. 

"  Will  you  murder  us  ? "  asked  the  sheik  Alepp,  as  he 
looked  with  calm  dignity  at  the  young  man. 

"No,  if  your  blood  must  flow,  so  be  it  upon  your  own 
head,"  answered  Mohammed,  earnestly.  You  alone  shall  de- 
cide your  own  life  or  death,  and  that  of  your  three  com- 
panions.— Come,  soldiers,  open  this  door  ;  we  go  out  this 
way." 

The  soldiers  obeyed,  and  opened  the  door  on  that  side  of 
the  mosque  which  lay  nearest  the  mountain  stairway. 

The  sheik  and  the  ulemas,  soldiers  accompanying  them, 


THE   REVOLT.  105 

passed  out,  Mohammed  in  front  of  them,  his  drawn  sword  in 
his  hand.  Behind  them  came  the  collectors,  with  pikes  in 
their  hands. 

Silently  they  went  on  their  way  toward  the  mountain-path. 

The  men  who  had  waited,  uncertain  what  to  do,  before  the 
door  of  the  mosque,  now  went  round  to  the  side,  and  with  out- 
cries of  rage  pointed  out  to  one  another  the  road  to  the  moun- 
tain-path. 

When  Mohammed  heard  this  outcry,  he  stood  still,  and 
motioned  to  the  soldiers  to  go  forward  with  the  prisoners. 
"  Remain  at  my  side,  collectors,  we  will  cover  the  rear.  For- 
ward, now  !  go  up  the  mountain.'' 

And  while  those  went  upward,  Mohammed  remained  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  On  either  side  the  collectors,  and  in 
front  of  him  all  the  fishermen  of  Praousta,  more  than  fifty 
men,  with  threatening  looks  and  burning  eyes.  But  still,  al- 
though they  muttered  and  quarrelled,  and  even  raised  their 
fists,  they  dared  not  approach  this  young  man,  whose  counte- 
nance was  so  determined,  so  full  of  energy,  whose  cheeks  were 
so  pale,  and  on  whose  mouth  rested  so  threatening  an  expres- 
sion. He  must  have  appeared  to  them  like  the  angel  of  death, 
and  each  one  feared  that  if  he  approached  he  would  sink  down 
and  die. 

Mohammed  paid  no  attention  to  the  threatening  group  of 
men.  His  eye  looked  beyond  them — there,  behind  the  men, 
where  the  veiled  white  figure  stood,  supported  by  two  women. 

He  looked  toward  her,  and  the  ringing  tones  of  the  young 
girl's  voice  sounded  in  his  heart,  and  he  seemed  to  hear  the 
words  :  "  If  you  have  a  mother  you  love,  then  think  of  her  ! " 

He  thought  of  her,  and  a  deep  sigh  escaped  his  soul.  But, 
still,  he  must  be  a  man  now.  He  had  sworn  to  bring  the  reb- 
els of  Praousta  back  to  obedience.  He  must  keep  his  word, 
and  he  will  do  it.  "  If  she  has  swooned  away,  she  will  awake 
and  forget  her  grief.  Women  are  readily  grieved,  but  their 
grief  is  easily  dissipated.  She  will  know  how  to  console  her- 
self ;  and  as  for  me,  I  will  forget  her,  I  will  never  give  her 
another  thought." 

He  said  this  defiantly  to  himself,  and  looked  again  at  the 
men  of  Praousta,  who  were  still  standing  irresolute  and  mur- 
8 


106  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

inuring  near  the  mosque,  not  daring  to  approach  the  three 
armed  men.  "  He  certainly  would  not  have  come  alone,  he 
would  not  dare  to  remain  standing  there,  if  his  comrades  were 
not  concealed  somewhere  up  there  in  the  mountain." 

"  Yes,  they  are  standing  there  listening,  and,  if  we  shoulp 
charge  upon  them,  they  would  fire  at  us,  and  we  should  all  be 
lost.  No,  we  will  be  cautious  ;  but  this  is  certain,  we  will  not 
pay  the  tax  ;  the  sheik  has  commanded  it,  and  the  ulemas  have 
decided  ;  therefore  we  will  not  pay." 

"  No,  we  will  not  pay, "  repeated  all  the  other  men.  No 
longer  loud  and  defiant,  but  in  low  voices  one  to  another,  and 
their  eyes  turned  suspiciously  toward  the  three  figures,  and 
then  up  the  mountain-path,  toward  the  rocks  behind  which 
they  believed  the  sharp-shooters  were  concealed. 

Mohammed  looked  also  toward  the  mountain -path,  and, 
seeing  that  the  prisoners  and  their  guard  had  reached  the  top 
of  the  mountain,  he  turned  toward  the  fishermen  : 

"Ismail,  Marut,  Berutti,"  he  cried,  "do  you  not  recognize 
me,  you  know  Mohammed  Ali,  son  of  Ibrahim  ? " 

"  Yes,  we  know  you,  and  we  would  not  have  believed  that 
the  son  of  Ibrahim  Aga  could  have  become  a  spy  upon  his  old 
friends." 

"  I  am  not  a  spy,  I  am  only  a  servant  of  that  law  and  jus- 
tice which  you  wish  to  violate.  Step  nearer,  and  listen  to 
what  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

They  came  cautiously,  hesitatingly,  a  few  steps  nearer,  and 
again  looked  anxiously  toward  the  mountain. 

"  What  have  you  to  say,  Mohammed,  son  of  Ibrahim  Aga  ? 
— but  remember  that  one  who — " 

"  Silence  ! "  commanded  Mohammed  ;  "  I  shall  remember 
what  is  necessary,  and  1  do  not  need  the  advice  of  rebels  and 
rioters.  I  did  not  call  upon  you  to  speak,  but  to  listen  to  what 
I  have  to  say.  Hearken,  men  of  Praousta,  in  the  name  of  the 
tschorbadji  !  I  give  you  until  early  to-morrow  morning  to  de- 
cide ;  if,  at  the  hour  of  second  prayers,  you  have  not  sent  three 
men  to  the  palace  of  the  tschorbadji,  double  the  amount  that 
you  have  formerly  paid,  the  sheik  and  the  three  ulemas  will 
lose  their  heads  for  your  disobedience,  and  you  will  be  the 
murderers  of  four  of  the  first  men  of  Praousta/' 


THE  REVOLT.  107 

He  slightly  lowered  his  gleaming  sword,  and,  as  a  farewell 
greeting,  turned  and  walked  up  the  mountain-path,  not  swiftly, 
not  hastily,  as  if  he  feared  the  men  would  fall  upon  him,  but 
slowly,  step  by  step,  not  even  glancing  back  to  see  if  the  crowd 
were  following  him,  quietly,  sword  in  hand,  and  in  front  of 
him  the  two  collectors. 


BOOK  II. 
PARADISE  AND  HELL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FLOWER  OF  PRAOUSTA. 

THE  tschorbadji  was  in  great  uneasiness  since  Mohammed 
had  gone  on  his  expedition  to  the  rebellious  village,  and  his 
son  was  profoundly  troubled  and  apprehensive.  He  could  not 
endure  to  remain  in  the  broad  hall  which  led  to  the  garden, 
but  followed  his  father  to  the  great  saloon  which  commanded 
a  view  of  the  court-yard  through  which  Mohammed  must 
come.  He  laid  himself  upon  the  divan,  while  his  father 
walked  up  and  down  with  heavy  steps,  pausing  occasionally 
at  the  window  looking  into  the  court  yard,  and  then  rapidly 
continuing  his  walk.  Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  two 
slaves  appeared  in  magnificent  Grecian  costume,  richly  em- 
broidered, and  placed  themselves  at  the  open  door.  Then  a 
third  stepped  forth,  and  announced  in  a  loud  voice,  "  His  ex- 
cellency Cousrouf  Pacha  ! "  His  excellency  entered,  splen- 
didly dressed,  in  a  long  velvet  mantle,  trimmed  with  rare  fur, 
in  his  turban  a  star  of  the  most  brilliant  diamonds  flashed, 
and  in  the  Persian  shawl  folded  around  his  waist  glittered  a 
dagger,  studded  with  costly  gems. 

It  was  a  splendid  sight— the  tall,  proud  man  as  he  stood  in 
the  widely-opened  door  ;  the  richly-dressed  slaves  at  his  side, 
and  behind  him  his  secretary,  in  white,  gold-embroidered  robe, 
holding  the  staff  aloft. 

The  tschorbadji  stepped  toward  him  with  a  respectful  air 
and  a  forced  smile.  Osman  arose  slowly  from  the  divan,  and 
bowed  profoundly  before  his  excellency. 

The  sharp  glance  of  the  pacha  read  at  once,  in  the  face  of 

(108) 


THE   FLOWEK   OF  PBAOUSTA.  309 

father  and  son,  that  he  was  unwelcome,  and  told  them  so  in  a 
soft,  friendly  voice.  The  tschorbadji  protested,  in  flowery 
words  and  flattering  terms,  which  he  knew  would  please 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  that  he  was  unutterably  happy,  inexpressibly 
flattered  and  delighted,  at  the  presence  of  his  excellency. 

Cousrouf  Pacha  replied  with  a  gracious  inclination  of  his 
stately  head,  and  appeared  to  find  it  perfectly  natural  that 
every  one  should  feel  delighted  when  his  excellency  ap- 
proached. 

"  Tell  me,  tschorbadji,"  he  said,  taking  the  place  of  honor 
on  the  divan,  and  motioning  the  slave  to  bring  him  his  gold- 
and-diamond-studded  chibouque — "  tell  me,  tschorbadji,  is  it 
true  that  the  village  of  Praousta  is  in  revolt  ? "' 

u  Unfortunately,  your  excellency,  it  is  true,"  sighed  the 
tschorbadji  ;  ''  the  men  have  revolted,  they  will  not  pay  the 
double  tax." 

"  Dogs  !  dogs  !  that  are  barking  a  little,"  said  Cousrouf, 
with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "  I  think,  tschor- 
badji, you  would  do  well  to  quiet  them  quickly." 

"  I  hope  my  messenger  will  succeed  in  repressing  the  revolt, 
in  qiueting  the  men,  and  in  inducing  them  to  do  their  duty." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Cousrouf,  with  a  contemptuous  curl 
of  his  lip,  "  you  intend  to  make  terms  with  the  rebels  ? " 

"  I  shall  try  to  induce  the  men  to  do  their  duty." 

"  You  surely  do  not  consider  that  rebels  are  criminals  most 
deserving  of  death,"  said  Cousrouf,  with  flashing  eyes. 
"  Dogs  are  shot  when  they  are  mad,  and  rebels  are  but  mad 


''  I  beg  your  pardon,  excellency,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  his 
gentle  face  assuming  a  severer  expression  than  it  had  yet  worn 
before  his  excellency — "  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  this  small  is- 
land is  not  so  rich  in  men  that  we  can  afford  to  shoot  them 
like  dogs,  and,  moreover,  excepting  this,  the  people  are  good, 
industrious,  and  willing  to  provide  for  their  families.  This 
year  they  have  had  a  bad  harvest,  and  but  little  profit,  and 
were  incensed  at  having  to  pay  double  taxes." 

"  And  why  double  taxes  ? "  asked  Cousrouf  Pacha,  with  a 
contemptuous  smile. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,  excellency,"  replied  the  tschorbadji,  with 


HO  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS  DOUSE. 

a  bow  ;  "  one  portion  of  the  taxes  goes  as  usual  to  Stamboul, 
into  the  coffers  of  his  highness  ;  the  other  portion — " 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Cousrouf,  with  a  proud  smile  ; 
"  the  other  portion  is,  through  an  order  from  Stamboul,  des- 
tined for  me.  That  is  so,  is  it  not,  tschorbadji  ? " 

"Yes,  excellency,  if  you  wish  to  know  the  truth,  it  is." 

"  And  these  dogs  refuse  to  pay  for  the  benefit  of  Cousrouf 
Pacha,  the  grand-vizier  of  his  highness,  the  friend  and  com- 
rade of  the  Admiral  Hussein,  and  you  will  not  shoot  them  down 
like  mad  dogs,  tschorbadji ;  you  wish  to  negotiate  with  these 
audacious  men,  who  mock  at  my  greatness  in  refusing  me  the 
tribute  !  These  slaves  believe  that,  because  Cousrouf  Pacha 
condescends  to  live  in  this  desolate  place — this  miserable  nest 
— they  can  mock  and  deny  me  their  respect  with  impunity. 
But  I  tell  you,  tschorbadji,  I  tell  you,  and  all  the  men  of  Pra- 
ousta  and  Cavalla,  you  shall  remember  this  day  !  If  these 
men  do  not  submit,  if  they  do  not  pay  what  they  ought  to  pay, 
then  you  may  all  beware,  for  a  day  will  come,  and,  by  Allah, 
it  is  not  far  off,  when  Cousrouf  Pacha  will  leave  his  exile  with 
new  honors  !  Remember  this,  tschorbadji,  and  act  accord- 
ingly." 

"  I  shall  remember  it,  excellency,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  re- 
spectfully ;  "  I  have  never  failed  in  reverence  and  respect  to  the 
noble  guest  whom  his  highness  graciously  sent  here  ;  I  accept- 
ed it  as  a  favor,  and  during  my  entire  life  I  shall  remember 
the  days  that  it  pleased  Cousrouf  Pacha  to  become  a  guest  in 
my  house." 

The  words  of  the  tschorbadji,  humbly  and  respectfully 
as  they  were  spoken,  rankled  in  the  sensitive  soul  of  the  proud 
pacha.  He  started,  and  his  brow  darkened.  He  had  partaken 
of  the  tschorbadji's  hospitality,  and  had  never  thanked  him 
for  it,  and  never  returned  it.  The  tax  that  the  men  of  Pra- 
ousta  were  commanded  to  pay,  was  by  an  order  from  Stamboul, 
destined  for  Cousrouf  Pacha,  and  this  was  a  sign  to  the  proud 
man  that  his  sun  was  in  the  ascendant,  that  he  would  soon  be 
released  from  his  exile,  and  therefore  he  was  defiant  and 
haughty  toward  the  tschorbadji. 

At  the  angry  words  of  the  pacha,  Osman,  the  usually  mild 
and  gentle  youth,  arose  from  the  divan,  and  placed  himself  at 


THE   FLOWER   OF   PRAOUSTA. 

his  father's  side,  as  if  he  wished  to  defend  the  tschorbadji  from 
the  proud  and  mocking  words  of  the  stranger. 

The  father  felt  and  understood  what  was  passing  in  the 
youth's  soul  ;  he  laid  his  hand  softly  upon  his  shoulder. 
"  Calm  yourself,  my  son  ;  may  the  rights  of  a  guest  be  as  sa- 
cred to  you  as  to  me — his  excellency  has  been  our  esteemed 
guest  for  three  years,  remember  this,  and  forget  that  he  was  a 
little  hard  just  now.  Allah  be  with  him  !  Allah  make  all 
our  hearts  tender  and  gentle  !  " 

"  You  must  remember,  pacha,  that  here,  in  our  small  por- 
tion of  the  great  world,  we  cannot  make  so  great  and  magnifi- 
cent a  display  as  you  can  make  in  your  brilliant  career  in  the 
great  city  of  Stamboul.  We  have  no  soldiers  here  except  my 
small  body-guard  of  eight  men  ;  the  rest  of  our  small  military 
force  is  now  stationed  elsewhere.  It  would  be  very  unfortu- 
nate if  I  should  incite  to  violence  the  men  who,  even  if  armed 
with  knives  only,  wculd  still  be  able  to  overpower  us  all.  It 
will  therefore  be  better  to  negotiate  with  them  than  to  proceed 
to  extreme  measures." 

"  Well,  what  course  have  you  decided  upon  ? "  asked  Cous- 
rouf,  in  a  milder  tone. 

"Mohammed  Ali,  the  friend  of  my  son,  Osman,  has 
pledged  himself  to  bring  the  rebels  to  reason  ;  I  have  given 
him  my  body-guard  of  eight  men,  and  he  has  gone  down  to 
Praousta." 

"Gone  to  this  seditious  village,  where  more  than  fifty 
strong  men  are  in  revolt  ! "  exclaimed  Cousrouf.  "  Truly  such 
daring  reflects  honor  upon  the  young  lad." 

"  Upon  what  young  lad  ? "  asked  Osman,  in  seeming 
surprise  ;"  of  whom  does  your  excellency  speak  ?  " 

''  Of  the  young  lad  your  father  spoke  of  ;  he  who  volun- 
teered to  settle  this  difficulty.  Is  he  your  slave,  or  your  f reed- 
man,  of  whom  you  make  a  companion  because  unfortunately 
you  can  find  here  no  better  social  intercourse  ? " 

"  He  is  my  friend."  said  Osman,  in  a  calm,  firm  voice,  "  my 
best  friend,  and  I  trust  that  all  who  honor  my  father's  house 
with  their  visits  will  observe  a  proper  respect  to  the  friend  of 
his  son.  I  expect  this,  and,  if  need  be,  will  require  it,  for — 

"  Here  comes  Mohammed  ! "  cried  the  governor,  rejoicing 


112  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

at  any  occurrence  which  interrupted  his  son's  speech.  "  Here 
comes  Mohammed,  and  with  him  four  prisoners.  By  Allah  ! 
it  is  the  sheik  and  the  three  ulemas  of  Praousta  !  The  soldiers 
are  conducting  them  ;  their  hands  are  bound  behind  their 
backs.  Mohammed  is  a  bold  fellow  ;  he  has  made  prisoners 
of  four  of  the  richest  and  most  influential  men  of  the  village, 
and  is  bringing  them  here.  I  must  speak  with  him."  The 
governor  arose  hastily,  but  Cousrouf  Pacha  seized  his  arm  and 
held  him  back  forcibly.  "  Tschorbadji,  it  becomes  your  am- 
bassador to  seek  you  and  give  at?  account  of  his  mission.  I 
myself  will  hear  him."  Still  holding  the  tschorbadji's  arm, 
he  stepped  to  the  divan,  seated  himself,  and  drew  the  governor 
down  beside  him.  And  now  the  door  was  opened,  and  Mo- 
hammed, with  glowing  cheeks  and  ardent  eyes,  holding  his 
sword  aloft,  entered  the  room.  He  advanced  rapidly  across 
the  spacious  saloon  to  the  tschorbad ji,  lowered  his  sword  be- 
fore him,  and  bestowed  a  kindly  glance  on  his  friend  Osman, 
who  came  forward  to  greet  him.  With  a  few  hasty  words  he 
explained  to  the  tschorbadji  the  events  which  had  taken 
place  ;  only  when  he  spoke  of  the  young  girl  did  his  voice  fal- 
ter, but  he  made  slight  mention  of  her,  and  passed  on  to  nar- 
rate the  conclusion  of  his  bold  adventure. 

"  So  you  have  really  made  prisoners  of  four  of  the  first  men 
of  Praousta  and  brought  them  here  ! "  said  the  tschorbadji, 
completely  taken  by  surprise.  "  Tell  me  what  shall  be  done 
with  them  ?  It  surely  cannot  be  your  intention  to  put  these 
men  to  death  if  the  tax  is  not  paid  ? " 

"  Most  certainly,  sir,  that  is  my  intention,"  said  Mohammed, 
throwing  back  his  head  proudly.  "They  are  all  rebels,  and 
the  ulemas  and  the  sheik  were  their  leaders—these,  sir,  were 
the  men  who  counselled  the  people  not  to  pay  the  taxes.  It 
is  according  to  laAv  that  the  heads  of  the  leaders  of  a  rebellion 
should  fall,  and  fall  their  heads  shall,  for  I  have  sworn  it ;  if 
three  men  are  not  sent  to-morrow  morning  from  Praousta.  at 
the  hour  of  pray er,  with  the  double  tax,  the  heads  of  the 
prisoners  shall  answer  for  its  payment  !  " 

"But  this  is  impossible,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  whose  tender 
heart  was  moved  by  Mohammed's  threatening  words.  "  This 
is  impossible  ;  I  cannot  allow  these  men  to  be  executed." 


THE   FLOWER   OF  PRAOUSTA.  H3 

"  I  have  sworn  it  shall  he  done,  and  it  must  he  done,  unless 
you  wish  to  see  your  authority  overthrown." 

"  But  how  can  it  be  done  ?  "  exclaimed  the  tschorbadji,  pale 
with  anxiety  and  horror.  "  Who  will  put  these  men  to  death  ? 
I  have  no  executioner." 

"•  If  necessary,"  said  Mohammed,  his  eyes  flashing  with  re- 
solve— "  If  necessary,  I  will  behead  them  myself." 

"  Bravely  said  1 "  cried  Cousrouf  Pacha,  rising  from  his 
seat.  "  Truly,  Mohammed  Ali,  I  begin  to  be  pleased  with 
you." 

''  That,  sir,  is  more  than  I  desire,"  said  Mohammed,  calmly  ; 
he  gave  one  threatening  glance  at  the  proud  pacha,  and  then 
turned  quickly  to  the  tschorbadji. 

"  Remember,  sir,  that  you  gave  me  absolute  authority  to 
act  as  I  thought  best.  I  gave  you  my  word  of  honor  to  biing 
back  these  rebels  to  reason  and  obedience.  In  return,  you 
promised  that  I  alone  should  decide  the  matter.  It  must 
therefore  be  so.  I  have  sworn  to  the  men  of  Praousta  that, 
unless  they  submit,  the  heads  of  the  sheik  and  the  three  ulemas 
shall  fall  ;  and  I  repeat,  so  must  it  be,  even  if  they  fall  by  my 
hand,  if  to-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  prayer,  the  gold  is  not  pro- 
duced." 

"  Then  may  Allah  mercifully  bring  the  rebels  to  repent- 
ance ! "  sighed  the  tschorbadji.  "  May  they  submit  to  jour 
decision,  and  bring  the  gold  at  the  appointed  time.  Until 
then  we  must  put  the  prisoners  in  some  place  of  safety.  Give 
orders,  Mohammed,  that  they  be  taken  to  the  prison,  and  care- 
fully guarded." 

"  And  why  to  the  prison,  sir  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  quietly. 
"  Here  in  the  middle  of  the  court-yard  is  a  space  encircled 
with  an  iron  railing." 

"  So  there  is,"  replied  the  tschorbadji,  "it  was  prepared  as 
a  cage  for  my  beautiful  lion,  and  he  had  lived  within  that  rail- 
ing for  four  years,  when  some  miserable  wretch,  who  knew  I 
loved  the  noble  animal,  poisoned  it." 

"  Well,  I  think  the  cage  your  lion  occupied  is  large  enough 
to  afford  lodging  for  one  night  to  the  sheik  and  the  ule- 
mas." 

"  What  !  confine  them  here  in  the  open  air  ? " 


114:  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  what  I  suggest.  "  Cannot  the  iron  door 
be  locked  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  can  be  locked  ;  the  key  is  in  the  palace." 

"  In  this  way  we  can  spare  your  body-guard  a  weary 
watch,"  said  Mohammed.  "  I  will  conduct  them  to  their 
prison.  It  seems  to  me  best  that  the  prisoners  be  placed  where 
all  the  world  can  see  them  ;  all  the  passers-by  can  here  look 
upon  these  men  and  take  warning  how  the  tschorbadji  pun- 
ishes rebels  and  rebellions.  I  alone  will  keep  watch  over 
these  prisoners,  and  explain  to  all  who  pass  why  they  are 
here  ;  they  will  then  go  down  to  Praousta,  and  announce  that 
the  block  is  prepared  upon  which  the  heads  of  these  men  will 
fall  early  on  the  morrow,  unless  the  taxes  are  paid." 

Mohammed,  you  are  terrible  ! "  murmured  Osman,  as  he 
gazed  with  amazement  and  anxiety  into  the  eyes  of  his  friend. 

''  You  are  right,"  whispered  Cousrouf  Pacha,  aside  ;  "  tbis 
is  a  bold,  brave  youth,  and  something  can  be  made  of  him. 
He  is  ambitious  and  daring.  The  time  may  come  when  he 
would  be  of  use  ;  I  will  try  to  win  him  over  to  my  interests." 

Mohammed  heard  nothing  more  ;  he  had  already  gone  to 
the  court-yard  and  opened  the  door  of  the  cage.  He  now  or- 
dered the  soldiers  to  conduct  the  prisoners  inside  the  en- 
closure. 

Calmly  and  silently  they  entered.  Not  one  word  had  been 
uttered  by  them  since  they  left  Praousta  ;  with  heads  erect, 
and  with  proud  bearing,  they  entered  their  prison. 

"  Force  conquers  even  the  philosopher.  He  who  feels  him- 
self in  the  right  is  silent,  and  utters  no  complaint,"  so  ex- 
claimed the  sheik  in  a  loud  voice,  as  he  was  thrust  inside  the 
enclosure  by  the  soldiers.  The  ulemas  bowed  their  heads  and 
followed  him.  "  Allah  be  praised,  and  may  the  prophet  look 
down  in  mercy  upon  the  most  insignificant  of  his  creatures  !  " 

The  door  of  their  prison  closed  behind  them  ;  Mohammed 
took  the  key  and  concealed  it  about  his  person.  "  Now,"  said 
he,  "  pray  and  meditate  upon  your  crimes  and  their  punish- 
ment. I  will  myself  make  known  to  the  men  of  Praousta  that 
they  may  find  you  here,  and  all  who  wish  can  come  to  see  you. 
It  rests  with  you  to  tell  the  people  that  they  must  submit  to 
the  law,  or  else  bring  your  heads  to  the  block.  Think  well  of 


MASA.  115 

this,  and  rest  assured  the  tschorbadji  will  confirm  what  he  has 
declared  through,  me.  To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  prayer, 
must  the  double  tax  be  paid  by  the  men  of  Praousta,  or  your 
heads  shall  be  placed  on  the  cliffs  where  everybody  can  see 
them,  and  your  bodies  thrown  upon  the  rock  Bucephalus,  that 
the  vultures  and  ravens  may  feed  upon  them." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MASA. 

THE  sea  lay  like  a  sleeping  lion  reposing  after  a  conflict, 
and  curled  its  waves  dreamily  upon  the  mountain-rock  Buceph- 
alus. The  sun  was  burning  hot,  and  no  breath  of  air  cooled 
the  atmosphere,  and  not  one  cloud  or  shadow  afforded  protec- 
tion from  the  glowing  rays  of  the  sun,  which  fell  full  upon  the 
uncovered  space  within  which  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas  had 
been  confined  since  early  in  the  morning.  But  they  stood 
firm,  and  no  complaint  escaped  their  lips.  With  their  heads 
turned  to  the  east,  they  knelt  and  prayed,  their  whole  bearing 
expressing  dignity  and  high  resolve. 

At  the  command  of  Mohammed,  one  of  the  governor's  col- 
lectors was  sent  to  Praousta.  He  was  instructed  to  place  him- 
self in  front  of  the  mosque,  call  the  people  together  by  the 
sound  of  the  tomtom,  and  announce  to  them,  in  the  name  of 
the  tschorbadji,  that  all  who  would  see  the  victims  of  their  re- 
bellion should  come  up  the  mountain,  but  without  arms,  and 
only  three  at  a  time.  They  should  be  allowed  to  enter  the 
court-yard  of  the  palace,  where  they  could  see  that  the  prison- 
ers were  still  alive,  and  that  their  lives  and  liberty  rested 
solely  with  the  men  of  Praousta.  In  conformity  with  this 
proclamation,  the  men  of  the  village  came  up  to  the  palace  in 
threes. 

Above,  upon  the  rock,  knelt  a  young  girl,  closely  veiled. 
The  men  of  Praousta  knew  well  that  this  was  Masa,  the  sheik's 
daughter.  They  bowed  low  before  her,  and  greeted  her  with 
the  greeting  of  peace.  She  raised  her  trembling  hands  toward 


116  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

them,  exclaiming  :  'k  Have  pity  on  my  unhappy  father  !  Sub- 
mit to  the  law  !  Yield  to  necessity  !  O  save  my  father,  and 
do  not  make  me  an  orphan  ! " 

The  men  of  Praousta  made  no  reply  ;  they  bowed  their 
heads  silently,  and  passed  on,  with  clouded  countenances,  to 
the  iron  cage  in  which  the  governor's  lion  had  once  been  con- 
fined, and  where  now  stood  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas,  thus 
made  wild  beasts  of  ;  they,  the  best  and  wisest  men  of  Pra- 
ousta, the  representatives  of  the  people,  made  a  public  spec- 
tacle ! 

The  sheik  and  the  ulemas  beckoned  to  each  man  who 
passed,  and  besought  him  to  hold  fast  to  his  resolution  not  to 
pay  the  new  tax.  "  If  you  yield  now,  and  pay  twofold,  soon 
they  will  demand  threefold  ;  they  wish  to  impoverish  us  and 
exact  our  heart's  blood,  but  we  will  not  submit,  and  we  com- 
mand you  to  stand  firm  ! " 

"  But  you,  0  fathers  of  our  community,  what  will  be  your 
fate?" 

"  That  Allah  has  determined,"  replied  one  of  the  ulemas. 
"  Not  a  bird  falls  to  the  ground,  not  a  worm  is  crushed,  by  the 
careless  foot  of  man,  without  his  knowledge.  He  who  pro- 
tects the  spiders  in  the  trees  and  in  the  corners  of  the  rooms, 
the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  monsters  of  the  deep,  will  also 
care  for  us.  Allah  be  praised  !  " 

"  Allah  be  praised  !  "  echoed  the  men,  as  they  turned  their 
steps  toward  Praousta. 

The  maiden  still  knelt  upon  the  rocky  stairway  and  raised 
her  hands  in  wild  entreaty  to  the  passers-by.  "  Yield,  yield,  I 
implore  you  !  Do  not  deliver  over  your  wisest  and  best  men 
to  a  bloody  death  !  " 

Mohammed  stood  in  the  hall,  behind  a  pillar,  listening 
earnestly  to  the  words  spoken  by  the  prisoners  to  the  men  of 
the  village.  From  time  to  time  Osman  joined  him,  and 
begged  him  not  to  act  the  part  of  guard  over  the  prisoners,  but 
to  come  into  the  saloon  and  rest  upon  the  divan.  "They 
can  not  escape  ;  the  railing  is  high,  and  the  gate  securely 
locked.  Come,  grant  me  the  pleasure  of  your  company, 
and  let  me  seek  to  soften  your  heart,  and  incline  you  to 
mercy." 


MAS  A. 

"  Impossible,"  said  Mohammed,  sternly.  "  If  we  yield  now, 
the  tschorbadji's  authority  is  foi-ever  lost." 

"  But,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  who  joined  them  at  that  mo- 
ment, "what  is  to  come  of  all  this,  if  the  prisoners  do  not 
submit  ? " 

"  Their  heads  shall  fall  upon  the  block  to-morrow  morning, 
at  the  hour  of  prayer,"  said  Mohammed,  in  so  firm  and  clear 
a  voice  that  his  words  were  heard  by  Cousrouf  Pacha,  who 
had  just  entered  the  hall. 

"  He  is  right,  tschorbadji,"  said  he,  bowing  his  head  with 
great  dignity.  '•  Yes,  he  is  right !  If  the  rabble  are  rebellious, 
let  the  heads  of  some  of  them  fall  !  Order  and  law  must 
reign  !  Many-headed  is  the  hydra,  and  it  is  no  great  misfor- 
tune if  a  few  of  their  brawling  heads  are  hewn  off  !  " 

"  Allah  is  great  !  His  will  be  done,"  said  the  tschorbadji. 
"  I  do  not  wish  the  court-yard  of  my  dwelling. to  be  stained 
with  blood.  I  do  not  wish  to  rule  harshly  and  unmercifully 
in  the  evening  of  my  life,  after  governing  my  people  so  many 
years  by  mild  and  gentle  rule." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,"  said  Cousrouf  Pacha  ;  "  mildness 
and  gentleness  do  not  become  a  ruler  ;  only  by  severity  and  an 
unbending  will  can  he  exalt  himself  to  power,  and,  even  when 
he  reaches  the  goal,  he  must  trust  to  arms,  if  he  is  to  maintain 
himself." 

"  And  if  with  sword  and  dagger  he  reaches  the  throne," 
said  Osman,  looking  gently  and  reproachfully  at  the  proud 
pacha,  "  may  he  then  hope  to  hear  music  and  hymns  of  praise, 
or  must  he  not  then  only  expect  to  hear  cries  of  anguish  uttered 
by  those  over  whose  heads  he  strode  to  power  ?  He  could  not 
then  expect  to  see  a  fair  and  blooming  land,  but  a  land  full  of 
corpses  and  blood  !  No,  no,  Cousrouf  Pacha  !  I  desire  not  to 
reach  that  height.  I  will  rather  dwell  in  the  valleys — in  the 
shadow  of  the  cliffs  on  the  sea  shore — and  gather  shells,  and 
revel  in  the  gladness  and  delight  of  a  modest  and  quiet  ex- 
istence." 

"  And  you,  Mohammed,"  said  the  pacha,  smiling  scornfully, 
"  what  is  your  ambition  ?  Will  you  gather  shells  upon  the 
sea-shore  with  Osman,  or  will  you  climb  the  heights  with  me 
to  a  splendid  goal  ? " 


118  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

Mohammed  turned  his  eyes  entirely  away  from  the  pacha, 
nodded  to  his  friend  Osrnan,  and  said  :  "  I  will  tread  my  own 
path  alone.  Where  fate  will  lead  me  I  know  not.  I  seek  no 
companionship,  and  will  follow  no  man's  lead.  From  time  to 
time,  I  may  turn  aside  from  my  path,  and  wander,  with  joy 
and  gladness,  with  my  only  friend,  on  the  sea-shore,  and  seek 
for  shells,  and  revel  in  the  delights  of  a  modest  and  quiet  life." 

With  a  kindly  glance,  Osman  extended  his  hand,  as  if  in  a 
grateful  greeting. 

•>  The  men  of  Praousta  continued  to  pass  before  the  iron  cage, 
and  the  sheik  still  appealed  to  them  to  be  firm,  and  not  to  sac- 
rifice their  rights. 

Suddenly  the  sun  disappeared,  and  night  came  down  upon 
the  earth.  The  prisoners  said  their  evening  prayers  in  a  loud 
voice,  and  when,  from  the  minarets  of  Praousta,  the  call  of  the 
muredin  rang  out  on  the  air,  the  prisoners  commenced  singing, 
firmly  and  devoutly  :  '"  God  is  great  !  There  is  no  God  but 
our  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his  prophet  !  Come  to  prayer  ! 
Come  to  be  healed  !  God  is  just !  There  is  no  God  but  our 
God  !  "  And  from  the  village  of  Praousta  the  solemn  hymn 
was  echoed  back  :  "  God  is  just  !  There  is  no  God  but  our 
God  !  "  Then  all  was  silent,  and  the  night,  like  a  silver  veil, 
wrapped  the  earth  in  its  folds. 

In  the  house  of  the  tschorbadji  all  was  still  ;  it  was  the 
custom  to  retire  early  and  to  rise  with  the  sun.  God,  in  His 
goodness,  created  the  night  for  repose.  The  moon  is  a  sacred 
lantern,  which  God  hangs  over  a  sleeping  world,  and  the  stars 
are  the  eyes  of  the  guardian  angels  watching  over  the  helpless 
sleepers.  Therefore,  is  it  well  to  go  to  rest  with  the  setting 
sun.. 

Profound  silence  reigned  in  Cavalla,  in  the  palace  of  the 
governor,  and  in  the  village  of  Praousta  the  men  were  at  the 
mosque,  praying  that  Allah  would  vouchsafe  them  wisdom 
for  the  duties  of  the  coming  day.  To  the  slender  female 
kneeling  in  the  mosque  they  whispered  :  "  Soften  your  father's 
heart,  maiden,  and  beseech  him  to  allow  us  to  obey  this  hard 
command." 

Did  she  understand  ?  Was  there  comfort  or  encourage- 
ment in  these  words  ?  She  bowed  her  head  still  lower,  and 


MAS  A.  119 

sobbed  beneath  her  veil  ;  she  knew  too  well  her  father's  im- 
movable will,  and  that  he  preferred  death  to  submission. 

The  court-yard  was  quiet.  The  tschorbadji  had  offered  to 
place  two  sentinels  before  the  gate  of  the  enclosure,  but  Mo- 
hammed declined  the  offer.  "  I  alone  must  complete  that 
which  I  alone  began.  I  pledged  you  my  honor,  tschorbadji, 
that  I  would  subdue  this  rebellion,  and  I  alone  will  guard  the 
prisoners.  I  will  trust  no  man  but  myself.  Who  knows  but 
that  the  men  of  Praousta  may  try  to  storm  the  enclosure  ? 
They  are  crafty  and  deceitful.  I  know  them  well,  and  will 
myself  guard  the  prisoners." 

"  Allow,  at  least,  some  of  the  soldiers  to  relieve  you  during 
the  night  in  this  hard  service." 

"  No  service  which  honor  and  duty  require  is  hard,"  said 
Mohammed,  proudly.  "  Let  the  soldiers  sleep,  I  will  keep 
watch." 

Osman  gave  him  a  long  and  searching  look,  as  if  he  would 
read  the  purpose  of  his  soul  ;  and,  strange  to  say,  Mohammed 
turned  his  face  aside  to  avoid  his  friend's  keen  eye.  Was  it 
only  from  a  sense  of  honor  and  duty  that  Mohammed  under- 
took the  lonely  watch  ?  Or  did  he  hope  the  clear  moonlight 
would  reveal  some  other  beautiful  picture  than  the  golden 
plateau,  and  the  great  shadows  thrown  upon  it  by  the  palace  ? 
When  night  had  fully  settled  down  upon  the  earth,  Moham- 
med crept  forward  in  the  shadow  of  the  palace,  to  a  large  rock 
which  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  court-yard  ;  there  he  con- 
cealed himself,  and  waited.  What  was  he  waiting  for? 
From  that  point  he  could  overlook  the  court-yard,  and,  by 
leaning  forward,  he  could  also  see  the  stairway  in  the  rock. 
Why  did  he  turn  his  head  in  that  direction  so  often  ?  Why 
did  he  suddenly  shrink  back,  and  why  did  his  heart  tremble 
as  he  saw  a  white  figure,  illuminated  by  the  moon,  advancing  ? 
Mohammed  cowered  still  lower  behind  the  rock. 

Probably  she  did  not  see  him,  and  supposed  the  moon  and 
the  stars  only  had  seen  her  glide  softly  through  the  gateway, 
and  into  the  court-yard. 

The  veiled  virgin  now  walks  through  the  court-yard  to  the 
iron  railing  ;  kneels  down  upon  the  mosaic  pavement,  and, 
raising  her  hands,  whispers  softly  : 


120  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"  Father,  my  beloved  father,  do  you  hear  your  daughter's 
voice  ? "  Mohammed  bows  his  head,  and  listens  in  breathless 
suspense,  his  heart  throbbing  wildly. 

"  I  hear  you,  my  daughter,"  replied  the  sheik,  in  a  quiet 
tone.  "  I  expected  you,  for  I  know  my  Masa's  heart  well." 

"  Masa,"  murmured  Mohammed  ;  "  what  a  beautiful,  glori- 
ous name  !  It  falls  like  music  upon  my  ear,  and  makes  my 
heart  beat  strangely.  What  does  this  mean  ?  Allah,  protect 
thy  servant ! " 

Against  his  will,  he  still  listens  to  this  heavenly  voice  that 
now  entreats  her  father  to  yield,  to  submit  to  the  inevitable. 
But  the  sheik,  as  she  continued  her  supplications,  commanded 
silence,  and  forbade  her  to  burden  his  heart  with  her  tears. 

"  Life,  my  daughter,  is  but  a  short  span  ;  but  eternity  is 
long,  and  woe  to  those  who  have  not  done  their  duty  during 
that  short  period  !  They  will  suffer  for  it  throughout  eternity, 
for  Allah  is  strong  in  his  wrath,  and  just  in  his  punishment. 
I  have  sworn  that  I  will  watch  over  the  welfare  of  my  com- 
munity while  I  live,  and  Sheik  Alepp  will  keep  his  word  to 
the  end  of  his  life." 

"But,  father,  beloved  father!"  urged  the  maiden,  "you 
have  also  sworn  to  be  a  parent  and  a  guardian  to  me  all  the 
days  of  your  life.  Keep  this  oath,  too  ;  save  your  life,  in  or- 
der to  save  mine.  Then  you  must  know,  my  father,  that 
Masa  will  not  remain  on  the  earth  if  you  leave  it.  Your  child 
has  naught  upon  this  earth  but  you  ;  early  was  my  mother 
taken,  and  it  has  become  lonely  in  Sheik  Alepp's  harem.  My 
father  said  :  '  I  will  not  take  in  a  strange  woman  :  no  second 
wife  shall  ever  fill  the  place  in  my  heart  that  has  been  wholly 
consecrated  to  my  dear  Masa.  My  only  child  shall  not  have 
to  suffer  from  the  severity  and  caprice  of  a  strange  woman.' 
This  was  nobly  said  and  nobly  done,  my  father,  to  devote  your 
entire  life  to  your  child,  and  to  the  duties  of  guardian  of  your 
people.  But  hear  me,  father  :  what  is  to  become  of  your 
daughter  when  she  is  left  alone  upon  the  earth  ?  Sorrow  and 
want  will  be  my  portion,  and  I  should  wither  away  unseen, 
and  be  trodden  under  foot  upon  the  wayside,  without  one 
sympathizing  voice  to  bemoan  my  early  death." 

Mohammed  still  crouched  within  the  shadow  of  the  cliff, 


MASA.  121 

his  eyes  sparkling  like  the  stars  in  heaven,  but  the  maiden 
saw  them  not,  nor  could  she  know  the  exultation  in  his  heart. 

''You  should  not  wither  away  unseen  and  unlamented 
upon  the  wayside.  I  would  draw  you  to  my  bosom,  and  there 
you  should  bloom  in  fragrance,  my  heavenly  blossom,  and 
my  whole  life  would  lament  over  you  if  you  should  leave  the 
earth." 

In  the  silence  of  the  night  the  youth  still  listened  to  the 
conversation  between  father  and  daughter — to  the  tender  en- 
treaties of  the  maiden,  to  the  father's  stern  and  earnest  words  ; 
he  heard  also  the  whispering  voices  of  the  ulemas,  who, 
awakened  by  the  conversation,  betook  themselves  to  repeating 
prayers,  in  order  that  they  might  not  hear  what  passed  be- 
tween father  and  daughter  at  this  solemn  moment. 

Now  Masa  ceased  speaking  ;  a  few  stifled  sobs,  a  few  trem- 
bling words  only,  could  be  distinguished.  But  the  sheik  re- 
mained firm  and  unyielding. 

"  I  cannot,  Masa.  Right  gladly  would  I  remain  and  live 
with  you,  and  gladden  my  eyes  with  your  lovely  countenance, 
gladly  would  I  still  continue  to  hear  the  voice  that  calls  to  me 
in  the  loved  tones  of  my  Aga,  and  is  to  my  ear  the  sweetest 
music,  but  the  claims  of  duty  are  paramount,  and  what  duty 
commands  man  must  perform.  Allah  so  wills  it.  Allah  be 
praised  !  The  sheik  cannot  counsel  his  people  to  yield  to 
force  ;  he  must  wait  patiently  in  the  path  of  his  duty.  The 
result  is  in  Allah's  hand,  and  Allah  is  great  and  mighty.  Al- 
lah il  Allah  ! " 

"  Allah  il  Allah  !  "  repeated  the  three  ulemas. 

Rising  from .  his  knees,  the  sheik  now  proceeded  to  give, 
with  a  loud  voice,  the  second  call,  the  cbed,  for  he  saw  that 
rosy  streaks  were  beginning  to  shoot  out  over  the  horizon,  and 
he  knew  that  the  sun  would  rise  from  out  the  sea  in  an  hour  ; 
it  was  therefore  time  to  pronounce  the  ebed. 

"  I  praise  the  perfection  of  God  who  endures  for  ever  and 
ever,  the  perfection  of  the  living,  the  only  and  the  highest 
God.  The  perfection  of  the  God  who,  in  his  great  kingdom, 
takes  unto  himself  neither  wife,  nor  an  associate,  nor  one  who 
resembles  him,  nor  one  who  is  disobedient,  nor  a  substitute, 
nor  an  equal,  nor  a  descendant — his  perfection  I  praise  ;  and 
9 


122  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

praised  be  his  name  !  He  is  a  God  who  knew  what  was  to  be, 
before  it  became  what  it  is.  and  what  has  been  ;  and  he  is  as 
he  was  in  the  beginning.  His  perfection  I  praise,  and  praised 
be  his  name  ;  he  is  a  God  without  equal.  There  is  no  one 
who  is  equal  to  the  good  God  ;  there  is  no  one  who  is  equal  to 
the  great  God  ;  there  is  no  God  beside  thee,  O  God,  whom  we 
must  adore,  praise,  desire,  and  glorify  !  I  praise  the  perfection 
of  him  who  has  made  all  creatures,  who  preserves  and  pro- 
vides them  with  food,  and  has  determined  the  end  of  the  lives 
of  his  servants.  O  God,  the  good,  the  gracious,  the  great,  for- 
get not  one  of  them. " 

The  ulemas  now  arose,  and  with  powerful  voices  began  the 
following  monotonous  chant : 

"I  praise  the  perfection  of  Him  who  by  his  power  and  great- 
ness causes  pure  water  to  flow  from  the  solid  rock  ;  the 
perfection  of  Him  who  spoke  to  our  master,  Moses,  on  the 
mountain,  whereupon  the  mountain  crumbled  to  dust  out  of 
fear  of  God,  whose  name  be  praised  as  the  one  and  the  only 
one.  There  is  no  God  but  God,  and  he  is  a  righteous  judge. 
I  praise  the  justice  of  the  first,  peace  and  comfort  be  with  you  ; 
and  you  of  the  friendly  countenance,  O  ambassador  of  God, 
peace  be  with  you,  and  with  your  family  and  companions.  O 
you  prophet !  God  is  great,  and  God  favors,  and  preserves, 
and  glorifies  the  great  prophet  Mohammed.  And  may  God, 
whose  name  be  blessed  and  praised,  be  pleased  with  you,  O 
Mohammed,  and  with  all  those  favored  with  the  wine  of  God  ! 
Amen  ! "  * 

"  Amen  !  Amen  !  Amen  ! "  repeated  the  ulemas,  and  the 
maiden  whispered  it  after  them.  And,  within  the  shadow  of 
the  cliff,  Mohammed  Ali,  who  had  reverently  repeated  the 
ebed  in  a  low  voice,  murmured  Amen. 

"  And  now,  my  daughter,"  said  the  sheik,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  I  command  you  to  go  down  to  Praousta,  and  to  conceal  your- 
self within  the  harem  of  my  house,  and  there  to  await  in  pa- 
tience and  submission,  as  beseems  a  woman,  the  events  of  the 
morrow,  the  day  of  the  Lord  and  of  the  judgment.  Go,  my 
child,  and  the  blessing  of  Allah  be  with  you  !  " 

Mohammed  looked  forth  from  behind  the  cliff,  and  beheld 
*  See  the  Koran. 


THE   FIRST   DAY   OF   CREATION. 

the  veiled  figure  bending  down  and  grasping  the  old  man's 
hand  through  the  bars  of  the  cage  ;  he  then  heard  the  father's 
parting  blessing,  and  his  daughter's  low  sobs. 

Now  she  arose,  and,  bathed  in  the  full  lustre  of  the  moon, 
glided  softly  through  the  court-yard.  She  seemed  to  him  like 
one  of  the  welis,  or  spirits  blessed  of  God,  as  she  swept  past 
the  cliff  behind  which  Mohammed  stood,  and  passed  with  in- 
audible footsteps  toward  the  rocky  stairway. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  CREATION. 

NOISELESSLY,  her  feet  scarcely  touching  the  ground,  the 
veiled  figure  swept  onward.  The  light  of  the  moon  enveloped 
her  as  with  a  silver  veil,  and  the  stars  gazed  at  her  wonder- 
ingly,  as  if  to  follow  with  their  eyes  the  lovely  being  who 
walks  on  in  solitude  through  the  darkness  of  night. 

She  did  not  fear  the  solitude,  for  the  welis  guarded  the  in- 
nocent maiden,  and  kept  from  her  the  evil  spirits  and  ghins. 

The  solitude  had  no  terrors  for  her,  but  she  shrank  back 
with  alarm  when  the  moon  suddenly  cast  a  long  shadow 
across  her  pathway. 

The  shadow  of  a  man  !  She  stood  still  for  a  moment  in  a 
listening  attitude. 

"  Allah  protect  me  !  "  she  murmured,  as  she  drew  her  veil 
more  closely  about  her  and  walked  on. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  stairway  when  the  shadow 
came  close  to  her  side,  and  a  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Stay,  Masa,"  whispered  a  voice. 

She  trembled  and  sought  to  walk  on,  but  her  feet  seemed 
chained  to  the  ground.  She  thought  the  ghins  were  detaining 
her,  and  she  prayed  to  Allah  from  her  inmost  soul  to  release 
her  from  their  dread  enchantment. 

"  Fear  me  not,  Masa,"  said  a  kindly  voice  ;  "listen  to  me. 
I  am  no  enemy." 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,"  said  she,  in  low,  faint  tones.     "  I  fear 


124  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

neither  man  nor  the  evil  ghins,  for  the  welis  guard  me,  and 
my  mother's  eyes  watch  over  me.  Allah,  too,  is  always  with 
me  wherever  I  go,  by  night  or  day.  Yet  I  know  that  you  are 
my  enemy,  because  you  are  my  father's  enemy.'' 

"Oh,  do  not  say  this  !    Your  words  pierce  my  heart." 

"But  yet  you  are  my  enemy,  for  you  are  my  fathers 
enemy  ;  I  know  you,  I  recognize  the  fierce  youth  who  took 
my  father  prisoner  at  the  mosque  this  morning.  It  was  you  ! 
I  know  you  well,  and  my  heart  is  breaking.  You  are  the  au- 
thor of  my  father's  misery.  You  do  evil,  and  evil  thoughts 
fill  your  heart.  Let  me  pass,  do  not  detain  me  !  Let  me  re- 
turn to  my  father's  house.  Masa  must  obey  her  father  and 
master.  Remove  your  hand  from  my  shoulder.  It  does  not 
beseem  a  stranger  to  touch  a  chaste  maiden  with  his  impure 
hand.  Let  me  pass." 

"  You  say  I  am  your  enemy,  your  father's  enemy.  Be- 
lieve me,  Masa,  I  am  not  your  enemy,  not  your  father's  enemy. 
An  evil  destiny  has  ordained  that  Mohammed  Ali  should  be 
the  instrument,  the  sword  of  justice,  that  he  should  grieve  and 
wound  her  he  would  so  gladly  shield.  The  evil  ghins  have 
also  ordained  that  I  should  carry  out  the  law  and  assume  a 
threatening  attitude  toward  your  father.  I  must  submit  to 
what  Allah  ordains,  and  proceed  in  the  line  of  my  duty.  But, 
Masa,  you  shall  know  that  I  am  neither  yours  nor  your 
father's  enemy.  You  must  know  that  I  would  shed  my  heart's 
blood  to  make  undone  that  which  I  have  commenced.  O 
Masa,  had  I  sooner  beheld  these  eyes,  that  now  look  upon  me 
with  the  brilliancy  of  the  stars  in  heaven,  had  I  sooner  beheld 
the  countenance  that  now  beams  upon  me  with  the  brightness 
of  the  young  day,  never  would  my  mother's  son  have  assumed 
a  threatening  attitude  toward  your  father,  never  would  Mo- 
hammed have  undertaken  to  enforce  the  law  against  him. 
True,  the  evil  gbins  have  brought  this  about,  but  hearken  to 
me,  Masa,  and  consider  well  that  your  father's  welfare  is  at 
stake." 

"  I  will  not  hear  you,"  said  she,  tremblingly. 

"  I  swear,  by  the  spirit  of  my  mother,  that  I  have  nothing 
to  conceal  before  Allah  and  the  prophet.  Do  not  wound  me, 
Masa,  with  your  alarm.  You  seemed  to  me  this  morning  the 


THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  CREATION.  125 

loveliest  of  women  ;  until  then  Sitta  Chadra  was  her  son's  only 
love.  You  must  know  that  when  she  had  died,  Mohammed 
Ali  fled  into  solitude  and  intended  to  take  his  own  life.  But 
in  the  solitude,  Allah  said  to  him  :  '  The  life  I  have  given  you, 
bear  with  manfully,  and  take  upon  yourself  the  sufferings  I 
see  fit  to  visit  upon  you.' 

"  I  howed  submissively  to  his  commands  ;  I  left  my  soli- 
tude and  raised  myself  by  my  sorrow  as  by  a  pillar.  But  in 
you  I  seemed  to  see  my  mother's  spirit ;  then  pain  vanished 
from  my  heart,  and  my  mother  seemed  to  be  regarding  me 
through  your  eyes.  Therefore,  Masa,  have  I  followed  you.  I 
have  come  to  say  that  which  brings  the  blush  to  my  inmost 
soul,  that  which  the  ear  of  no  other  human  being  shall  ever 
hear.  In  the  name  of  my  mother,  I  beseech  you,  do  not  let  it 
be  here  upon  this  open  path  where  men  may  pass,  and  which 
the  foot  of  man  has  desecrated.  In  the  name  of  the  mother 
you  love  so  well  as  you  this  morning  declared  in  the  mosque, 
and  in  the  name  of  my  mother  whom  I  have  loved  as  few  sons 
have  loved  their  mothers,  in  the  name  of  the  moon,  and  in  the 
name  of  the  golden  stars  that  glitter  above  us,  I  entreat  you, 
mount  with  me  to  the  summit  of  the  rock.  There  will  Mo- 
hammed speak  words  to  you  that  his  tongue  has  never  ut- 
tered before.  There  he  will  advise  you  how  to  save  your 
father,  and  help  the  men  of  Praousta." 

She  looked  up  to  the  crest  of  the  rock,  bathed  in  the  soft 
moonlight. 

"  You  would  lead  me  up  there  ? "  murmured  she. 

"  I  will  lead  you  safely,  or  follow  you,  as  the  slave  follows 
his  mistress.  The  way  is  steep,  but  your  feet  are  active  as 
those  of  the  gazelle.  I  now  remember  having  sometimes  ob- 
served your  white  figure  and  your  flying  footstep.  Lightly 
like  the  dove  have  I  seen  you  flit  from  rock  to  rock,  and  I 
have  followed  you  with  reverence.  Yes,  I  have  long  known 
you  ;  I  have  often  see  you,  and  I  know  that  the  white  dove 
need  only  spread  her  wings  to  flutter  up  to  the  Ear  of 
Bucephalus.  0  Masa,  I  entreat  you,  spread  your  wings 
and  fly  !  There  I  will  speak  with  you  of  your  father  and 
of  the  future,  of  yours  and  of  mine.  Will  you  grant  my 
request  ? " 


126  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  only  regarded  him  with  an  inquir- 
ing, doubtful  look. 

Was  it  a  mere  accident,  or  had  he  purposely  placed  himself 
so  that  the  light  of  the  now  waning  moon  shone  full  in  his 
face  ?  Was  it  by  chance  that  he  was  so  placed  that  a  shadow 
was  thrown  over  the  place  where  she  stood,  which  enabled  her 
to  gaze  at  him  from  out  the  darkness  with  her  large,  lumi- 
nous eyes  ? 

"  I  entreat  you,  Masa,  go  not  down  to  your  father's  house, 
but  ascend  Avith  me  to  the  Ear  of  Bucephalus.  There,  where 
none  but  Allah  and  Nature  can  hear  my  words,  I  will  speak 
to  you  of  your  father,  and  of  the  men  of  the  village." 

She  drew  her  veil  more  closely  about  her  and  bowed  her 
head.  "Lead  the  way,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  I  will  follow." 

And  he,  overwhelmed  with  happiness,  knelt  down  and 
tenderly  kissed  the  little  foot  that  peeped  out  from  beneath 
her  white  garments.  Then  he  arose,  folded  his  arms  upon  his 
breast,  and  bowed  his  head  in  reverence  before  his  queen. 

"  Your  slave  will  lead  the  way,"  said  he,  softly  ;  "  be  merci- 
ful, and  follow  him." 

He  then  turned  and  began  the  ascent  of  the  path  that  leads 
up  to  the  crest  of  the  rock.  Masa  followed,  praying  to  her- 
self that  her  mother's  spirit  might  accompany  and  guard  her 
from  all  danger. 

Both  were  silent ;  Mohammed  hastened  on  from  rock  to 
rock,  higher  and  higher. 

Mohammed  was  right.  Masa  fluttered  lightly  from  cliff  to 
cliff  like  a  white  dove. 

At  times  he  stood  still  and  looked  behind  him. 

It  perhaps  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  walking  too  rapidly, 
and  should  give  her  time  to  rest.  Or  he  feared,  perhaps,  the 
heavenly  form  might  suddenly  vanish  like  the  vision  of  a 
dream. 

"  See,"  said  he.  pointing  to  the  moon  now  waxing  pale  in 
the  heavens.  "  See,  the  night  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  day 
is  about  to  break.  I  wish  to  see  the  sun  rise  with  you,  O 
Masa  !  " 

"  I,  too,  desire  it,"  was  whispered  in  her  heart,  but  her  lips 
did  not  utter  the  words.  "  Lead  the  way,  I  follow  you." 


THE   FIRST   DAY   OF   CREATION.  127 

The  whispering  of  the  lips  was  to  him  as  the  command  of 
a  sovereign. ;  he  quickly  turned  and  continued  the  ascent. 

They  had  now  reached  the  crest.  And  there,  high  above 
all  earthly  care  and  sorrow,  the  two,  the  youth  and  maiden 
stood,  alone  upon  the  lofty  plateau. 

They  stood  upon  the  spot  of  which  Mohammed  had  said 
that  it  was  not  yet  desecrated  by  the  foot  of  man.  Here  it  was 
lonely  and  solemn  ;  here  Allah  and  holy  Nature  could  alone 
hear  his  words.  And  now,  overeome  by  the  wondrous  picture 
that  lay  spread  out  before  them,  and  perhaps  unconsciously, 
Mohammed  took  the  girl's  hand  ;  and,  without  being  conscious 
of  it,  she  allowed  him  to  take  it  in  his  own  and  pass  it  to  his 
lips. 

The  moon  had  vanished  beneath  the  horizon,  and  there, 
where  heaven  and  earth  seemed  united  in  sweet  harmony,  a 
purple  hue,  like  a  messenger  from  God,  gradually  overspread 
the  sky.  Who  could  tell  where  the  earth  ended  and  the 
heavens  began  ;  where  the  waves  ceased  to  murmur,  and  were 
commingled  with  the  skies  in  Godlike  majesty  and  love? 
Little  purple  clouds  chased  each  other  across  the  heavens  like 
flying  cupids,  and  here  and  there  a  star  still  faintly  sparkling 
as  if  to  tell  of  the  Divine  mysteries  of  creation. 

And  now  the  waters  of  the  sea  suddenly  begin  to  swell, 
and  the  waves  roll  higher  ;  they  rear  their  white  crests  aloft, 
and  a  whispering  pervades  the  air,  as  though  the  spirits  of 
heaven  and  earth  were  pronouncing  the  morning  prayer  of 
the  new  day. 

Upon  the  crest  of  the  rock  stand  these  two  human  beings, 
regarding  the  fading  stars  and  the  rising  sun,  hand-in-hand — 
they,  too.  a  part  of  the  holy  universe  created  by  Allah  in  the 
fulness  of  his  grace.  And  their  souls  and  hearts  are  as  inno- 
cent as  were  those  of  the  first  human  pair  in  paradise,  before 
the  alluring  voice  of  the  serpent,  had  yet  been  heard.  The 
light  of  day  still  shines,  as  through  a  veil,  but  a  rosy  hue 
gradually  overspreads  the  heavens,  and,  at  last,  the  sun  rises, 
in  all  its  splendor  from  out  the  sea,  as  on  the  first  morning  of 
creation,  and  on  each  succeeding  morning  since,  comes  this 
holy,  ever-renewed  mystery  of  the  sunrise,  that  tells  of  the 
surpassing  glory  of  God.  A  wondrous  murmuring  rises  up 


128  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

from  the  sea,  and  the  birds  are  all  awake,  exulting  in  the 
brightness  of  the  morning.  The  palm,  the  olive,  and  the 
myrtle  groves,  rustle  in  the  breeze.  The  lark  soars  heaven- 
ward, singing  its  morning  greeting.  Even  the  eagle  has 
spread  his  pinions,  and  is  mounting  aloft  from  his  nest  in  the 
neighboring  rocks,  to  do  homage  to  the  sun.  It  is  as  though 
all  Nature  were  crying,  exultingly,  "  The  new  day  has  awak- 
ened!" 

"  The  sun  has  risen,  Masa,"  cried  Mohammed — "  tbe  night 
is  past.  As  often  as  I  have  wandered  among  these  rocks, 
never  before  has  morning  seemed  so  fair — never  before  have 
the  sun's  rays  so  filled  my  heart  with  warmth.  Heretofore,  the 
sunrise  was  but  the  signal  for  me  to  go  in  pursuit  of  game,  or 
to  prepare  to  cross  over  to  Imbro,  to  look  after  the  fishermen's 
nets,  set  out  the  day  before.  But  to-day  Allah  proclaims  to 
me  why  it  is  that  the  sunlight  is  so  glorious,  that  the  eagle 
soars  so  proudly  aloft,  that  the  waves  surge  so  grandly.  O 
Masa,  I  will  tell  you  why  it  is  thus  :  it  is  because  they  are  all 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  creation,  and  this  spirit  is  love — eter- 
nal, illimitable  love." 

"  Speak  not  thus,"  said  the  maiden,  tremblingly.  "  Speak 
not  thus  to  me.  It  does  not  beseem  a  maiden  to  listen  to  a 
man's  words  of  love  without  the  approval  of  her  father." 

'4  But  will  you  not  accord  me  this  privilege,  Masa  ? "  asked 
he,  gently.  "  May  I  not  go  to  your  father  and  entreat  him  to 
give  me  the  pure  maiden,  that  she  may  accompany  me  through 
day  and  night  ? " 

"  No,  do  not  speak  thus,"  she  repeated,  tremblingly.  "  You 
told  me  you  would  speak  of  my  father — speak  of  him,  Moham- 
med Ali." 

"  Yes,  of  your  father,"  murmured  he.  "  I  had  so  much,  so 
very  much  to  say  to  you,  and  now  it  seems  to  me  that  all  is 
already  said.  What  remains  is  as  nothing,  and  is  forgot- 
ten." 

"You  are  mocking  me,"  said  she,  gently.  "You  only 
wished  to  see  if  my  father's  daughter  would  be  foolish  enough 
to  follow  you  where  she  should  never  go  except  at  her  father's 
side,  or  accompanied  by  women.  You  have  punished  me, 
Mohammed,  for  my  folly  and  boldness  in  following  you  and 


THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  CREATION.  139 

confiding  in  you.  If  you  have  nothing  to  say  to  me,  then  let 
me  quickly  go  and  return  to  my  father's  house." 

"  No,  Masa,  do  not  go.  I  did  not  intend  to  mock  you  ;  I 
really  had  so  much  to  say  to  you  !  Yet  I  know  not  how  it  is 
with  me  ;  it  seems  to  me  that  if  I  have  been  transformed,  created 
anew  ;  that  yesterday  and  its  events  are  forgotten.  I  am  as  a 
new,  a  different  being.'1 

He  could  not  hear  the  voice  that  whispered  in  her  heart 
also,  that  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  had  cast  its  spell  over  them 
both. 

"Oh,  speak  to  me  of  my  father,"  she  cried,  in  anxious 
tones. 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  I  will  call  reason  to  my  aid.  Your  father  is 
my  prisoner,  and  I  have  sworn  that  I  would  bring  the  rebels 
back  to  submission,  and  honor  requires  that  I  should  finish 
what  I  have  undertaken.  I  now  deplore  it  in  my  inmost  soul, 
now  that  the  magic  of  your  eyes  has  transformed  me,  and 
made  of  the  fierce  combatant  a  man  who  longs  to  fall  at  your 
feet,  and  pour  out  his  heart's  agony  and  bliss.  And  yet  I  can- 
not undo  what  I  have  begun.  I  registered  an  oath  in  the 
presence  of  the  men  of  Praousta,  and  told  them  :  '  If  you  do 
not  on  the  morrow  comply  with  what  I  have  commanded,  in 
the  name  of  the  tschorbadji,  I  shall  behead  the  prisoners  that 
Allah  has  delivered  into  my  hands  ! ' ' 

"O  my  father  1 "  cried  Masa,  loudly,  in  tones  of  anguish. 

"  I  cannot  do  otherwise,"  said  Mohammed,  heaving  a  deep 
sigh.  "  I  have  pledged  my  honor  that  it  should  be  so.  I  can- 
not recall  my  oath.  But  I  can  die,  and  die  I  will  ;  no  other 
resource  is  left  me.  I  must  choose  between  your  father's  death 
and  mine.  I  cannot  live  dishonored  and  perjured.  The 
tschorbadji  can  then  release  the  prisoners  ;  and  he  will  do  so, 
for  he  is  kindly  disposed,  and  it  was  I  alone  who  wished  to 
proceed  with  severity.  And  Osman  will  join  you  in  your  en- 
treaties to  his  father.  Now  all  is  clear  ;  now  I  know  what  it 
was  I  wished  to  say  to  you  here  on  Bucephalus.  Ah,  still  so 
much,  and  there  is  but  an  hour  left  me  !  How  often  have  I 
gazed,  from  this  place,  at  the  heavens  above,  and  the  sea  be- 
neath ;  how  often  seen  the  sun  rise  in  its  splendor  !  But  now 
that  I  have  gazed  in  your  eyes,  Masa,  all  else  is  forgotten  and 


130  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

extinguished,  and  for  me  there  exists  only  the  present ;  no 
longer  a  past.  Yet  I  wished  to  see  you  once  more  before  my 
death,  and,  I  entreat  you,  grant  me  one  request.  My  mother,  Sit- 
ta  Khadra,  once  told  me  that  when  a  man  was  about  to  die,  Al- 
lah's holy  spirit  is  shed  upon  him,  and  the  best  and  purest  of 
all  the  welis  is  sent  down  to  the  dying,  that  a  heavenly  atmos- 
phere may  surround  him  even  here  on  earth.  It  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  the  weli  sent  by  Allah  to  him  who  is  about  to  die. 
Therefore,  remove  your  veil,  that  I  may  behold  the  brightness 
of  your  eyes  and  the  crimson  of  your  lips,  and  refresh  my 
soul  in  the  light  of  your  countenance.  Yes,  die  I  must,  and 
die  I  will,  when  I  shall  have  seen  the  brightness  of  your 
eyes  I " 

"  Look  at  me,"  said  she,  softly,  "  and  hear  what  I  have  to 
say  ;  I  will  not  have  you  die  !  There  must  be  some  other 
means  of  saving  my  father.  But  you  shall  not  die,  for  you — 

She  spoke  no  further,  but  gazed  dreamily  upward  at  the 
heavens. 

The  sun  had  risen  higher,  and  now  gilded  with  its  rays  the 
crest  of  the  rock.  Its  golden  light  illumined  the  maiden's  uu- 
veiled  countenance,  and  Mohammed  regarded  her  in  ecstasy. 
Beautiful  was  she,  and  faultless  ;  the  eternal  morning  of  youth 
shone  in  the  features  that  were  still  more  gloriously  illumined 
by  the  lustre  of  first  love.  She  seemed  to  Mohammed  the  very 
embodiment  of  loveliness,  chastity,  and  innocence.  In  his  ec- 
stasy he  could  find  no  utterance  for  that  which  filled  his  heart. 
His  whole  being,  his  whole  soul,  was  reflected  in  his  eyes.  He 
lost  all  control  over  himself  in  the  presence  of  this  maiden, 
this  heavenly  image. 

"  Love  is  my  prayer,  and  prayer  is  my  love.  Look  at  me, 
ye  starlike  eyes,  and  read  in  my  soul  what  is  written  there  in 
characters  of  living  flame.  '  I  love  you,  I  love  you  ! '  It  is 
thus  my  heart  speaks  to  you,  and  thus  will  it  speak  with  my 
last  breath.  What  I  now  feel  is  love  and  death  combined, 
heavenly  bliss  commingling  with  boundless  suffering ;  I 
would  weep,  and  yet  shout  for  joy." 

Suddenly,  Mohammed  bounded  to  his  feet,  clasped  the 
maiden  in  his  arms,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  lips,  a  kiss 
that  made  her  tremble  in  her  inmost  being.  For  a  moment, 


THE  FIRST  DAY  OP  CREATION.  ]31 

she  allowed  her  head  to  rest  on  his  shoulder  ;  she  then  gently 
released  herself  from  his  embrace,  drew  her  veil  down  over 
her  face,  and  turned  to  go. 

>l  Oh,  hear  me,  Masa,  and  do  not  be  angry  !  "  he  cried,  en- 
treatingly.  "  Allah  has  seen  us,  and  now  hears  my  vow  of 
fidelity.  You  say  I  shall  live.  Then  say,  too,  that  I  may  live 
for  you  I  I  swear  to  you  that  I  have  loved  no  woman  but  you, 
that  no  other  woman  shall  ever  dwell  in  my  harem.  Oh,  speak, 
will  you  be  mine,  will  you  love  me,  and  be  true  to  me  ? " 

He  paused,  and  awaited  an  answer,  he  waited  long,  but  no 
answer  came.  It  seemed  to  him  that,  with  him,  all  Nature 
was  awaiting  an  answer.  The  foliage  of  the  trees  ceased  rus- 
tling, the  songs  of  the  birds  were  hushed,  the  eagle  folded 
his  pinions  in  the  nest  to  which  he  had  just  returned,  and 
gazed  fixedly  at  the  sun.  The  waves  subdued  their  murmur- 
ings,  and  even  the  wind  held  its  breath  ;  all  Nature  was  mute, 
and  yet  no  answer  came  from  the  maiden's  pure  lips. 

"  O  Masa,  will  you  be  true  to  me,  will  you  love  me,  will  you 
one  day  come  with  me  to  my  home  ? "  urged  the  youth  in 
tones  of  passionate  entreaty. 

Her  lips  parted,  and,  in  low,  soft  tones,  like  spirit- whisper- 
ings, she  murmured,  "  Yes,  I  love  you,  and  will  be  true  to 
you." 

He  hears  her,  and  bows  down,  and  kisses  the  hem  of  her 
veil. 

Sacred  is  the  woman  of  a  man's  first  love  ;  sacred  is  the 
moment  when  he  avows  to  her  his  love  ;  sacred  is  the  moment 
when  he  dares,  for  the  first  time,  to  approach  and  touch  her. 

But  suddenly  an  emotion  of  horror  thrills  his  whole  being. 

"  O  Masa,  in  my  ecstasy,  I  forgot  that  I  have  come  here  to 
die,  because  I  cannot  live  unless  my  honor  is  vindicated." 

"  To  die  ? "  said  the  maiden,  with  a  gentle  smile.  "  Why 
die  now,  when  we  have  only  just  begun  to  live  ? " 

"  I  must  die  that  your  father  may  live.  I  have  already 
told  you,  Masa,  that  I  have  sworn  by  my  honor,  that  the  men 
of  Praousta  shall  pay  the  double  tax,  as  they  are  in  duty  bound 
to  do.  I  have  pledged  my  honor,  that  is,  my  life.  Your 
father  will  not  pay,  and  I  have  sworn  by  Allah  and  the  proph- 
ets that  the  heads  of  the  four  prisoners  shall  fall  if  the 


132  MOHAMMED    ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

double  tax  is  not  paid.  You  see  now  that  I  must  die,  that  my 
honor  may  not  suffer.  When  I  am  dead  you  can  all  settle  the 
matter  as  you  think  best ;  the  governor  may  then  show  mercy, 
and  relieve  them  of  the  tax.  But  I  cannot.  And  yet  I  can- 
not allow  Masa's  father  to  die,  for  Masa  would  weep  for  him, 
and  her  every  tear  would  accuse  me." 

"  You  shall  not  die,  Mohammed,"  murmured  the  maiden. 
"  No,  you  shall  not  die.  O  Mohammed,  listen  to  my  words. 
I  conjure  you,  do  not  he  cruel.  You  say  I  should  weep  if  you 
killed  my  father  ;  but  do  you  not  suppose  that  Masa's  eyes 
would  also  shed  tears  if  her  father  should  rob  her  of  your 
life?" 

*'  O  Masa  ! "  exclaimed  Mohammed,  in  tones  of  ecstasy,  as 
he  extended  his  arms  toward  her. 

She  stepped  back,  and  gently  motioned  to  him  not  to  touch 
her. 

"  Let  us  demean  ourselves  as  we  are  commanded,  as  is  be- 
coming before  Allah,  the  prophets,  and  the  good  spirits  who 
hover  about  us  ;  as  is  becoming  in  the  presence  of  your 
mother,  and  of  mine,  who  are  looking  down  upon  us  ;  as  a 
youth  and  maiden  should  who  have  not  yet  been  united  in  the 
mosque.  Do  not  touch  me,  but  listen  to  what  Masa  has  to 
say  :  You  shall  not  die  for  my  sake  ;  you  shall  not  fill  my 
eyes  with  tears,  and  my  soul  with  anguish.  You  shall  live, 
Mohammed,  that  my  whole  existence  may  be  yours,  and  yours 
mine  !  Let  us  think  and  dream  of  this  ;  let  us  hope  for  this, 
and  let  us  do  all  we  can  to  make  of  this  dream  reality,  and  of 
this  hope  fulfilment.  I  shall  go  down  to  Praousta.  I  shall 
speak  to  them,  and  conjure  them  to  pay  this  double  tax  in 
spite  of  my  father's  opposition.  When  they  shall  have  done 
this,  Mohammed,  your  honor  will  be  saved,  my  father's  life 
preserved,  and  his  daughter's  heart  freed  from  anguish.  The 
rest,  Mohammed,  we  must  leave  to  the  good  spirits,  to  the  welis 
and  the  intercession  of  our  mothers." 

"  But  if  the  men  should  still  refuse,"  said  Mohammed — 
"  and  I  know  they  will,"  he  added,  gloomily. 

"  They  will  not  refuse.  My  lips  will  possess  a  charm  to 
persuade  them  to  do  what  we  wish.  They  will  not  refuse. 
My  love  and  anxiety  for  my  father  will  give  to  my  words  such 


THE  FIRST   DAY   OF   CREATION.  133 

power  that  they  must  do,  although  with  reluctance,  what  the 
daughter  demands  of  them  to  save  the  father's  life.  I  conjure 
you,  Mohammed,  wait  patiently  at  least  until  the  hour  of  sec- 
ond prayer.  Prolong  the  time  until  then.  Allow  me  to  an- 
nounce this  to  them  ;  to  bear  a  message  to  them  from  my 
father  and  from  you  ;  allow  me  to  say  :  '  Mohammed  will 
wait  until  the  hour  of  second  prayer  ;  you  can  deliberate  until 
then,  and  not  until  then,  if  it  be  necessary  to  pay  the  tax. 
Yet  if,  when  the  hour  arrives,  you  do  not  appear,  my  father's 
life  is  lost,  and  you  will  be  his  murderers.'  I  will  speak  to 
them  thus,  and  will  entreat  them  with  tears,  and  believe  me, 
these  men  are  good  at  heart,  and  full  of  tenderness  and  mercy. 
They,  too,  dearly  love  my  father,  the  sheik,  and  they  also 
love  the  ulemas,  the  wise  men  of  the  place,  and  they  will 
surely  yield  to  my  entreaties  if  you  will  only  wait,  Moham- 
med." 

As  she  finished  speaking,  she  turned  the  gaze  of  her  glow- 
ing eyes  full  upon  him.  He  looked  into  the  depths  of  these 
eyes,  and  a  sweet  tremor  coursed  through  his  whole  soul. 

u  See  how  great  is  your  power  over  me,  Masa.  Mohammed 
lays  his  honor,  his  pledged  word,  at  your  feet,  and  does  what 
you  request :  I  will  wait  until  the  hour  of  the  second  prayer. 
May  Allah  give  strength  to  your  words,  and  bless  the  charm 
of  your  crimson  lips  with  success  !  I  will  wait.  But  one 
thing,  Masa,  tell  me  now,  before  you  go." 

''  What  is  it  ? "  asked  she.  But  she  seemed  to  know  al- 
ready, for  she  blushingly  averted  her  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  that  you  love  me,  then  I  will  wait.  Tell  me, 
Masa,  do  you  love  me  ? " 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  what  I  do  not  understand  ? "  mur- 
mured she.  "I  do  not  know  what  love  is." 

"  You  do  not  know  what  love  is  ?"  said  he,  gazing  at  her 
fixedly  and  almost  threateningly.  "  Then  tell  me  this,  Masa, 
do  you  know  that  I  love  you  ? " 

When  he  uttered  these  words  his  face  was  so  near  hers 
that  she  felt  his  breath  on  her  cheeks — so  near,  that  his  eyes 
looked  into  the  depths  of  her  own  and  saw  themselves  re- 
flected there. 

"Do  you  know  that  I  love  you ? " 


134  MOHAMMED  ALT  AXD  HIS  HOUSE. 

A  slight  tremor  possessed  itself  of  all  her  being,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  in  confusion. 

"Yes,  Mohammed,  I  know  that  you  love  me." 

He  suddenly  raised  the  white  veil  from  her  countenance, 
and  softly  and  gently  kissed  her  lips,  as  softly  and  gently  as 
the  bee  touches  with  its  wings  the  crimson  rose  in  search  of 
its  sweetness.  He  then  quickly  let  fall  her  veil  again. 
"  Swear,  Masa,  that  no  other  man's  hand  shall  ever  raise  this 
veil ! " 

"  O  Mohammed,  how  can  I  ? "  said  she,  in  soft,  pleading 
tones.  ''  Am  I  not  my  father's  slave,  is  not  his  daughter's  life 
in  his  hands,  must  I  not  do  what  he  commands  ?  But  this  I 
can  swear  :  that  I  will  love  you,  Mohammed,  that  I  will  pray 
to  Allah  to  bless  our  love.  And  now  let  me  tell  you,  I  not 
only  know  that  you  love  me,  but  I  also  know  that  Masa's  heart 
is  yours,  for  it  beats  so  loudly,  so  stornaily,  and  I  feel  so  happy. 
This  I  can  swear,  too,  Mohammed,  that  my  heart  will  remain 
true  to  you,  and  that  I  will  rather  die,  than  of  my  own  free 
will  allow  another  man  to  raise  my  veil." 

"  And  this  I  can  swear,  Masa,  that  you  shall  not  die,"  said, 
he,  and  his  voice  sounded  almost  harsh  and  threatening. 
"  No,  you  shall  not  die,  Masa  !  You  shall  live,  and  live  for 
me,  the  husband  of  your  future.  And  now,  come,  I  will  con- 
duct you  to  the  rocky  stairway.  This  you  will  permit  me  to 
do." 

She  gently  shook  her  head,  raised  her  hand,  and  pointed 
to  the  landscape  that  lay  spread  out  below  in  the  bright  sun- 
shine. 

"No,  Mohammed  !  You  called  me  a  white  dove.  Then 
let  the  white  dove  fly  away  on  its  mission.  You  would  not 
be  the  huntsman  that  takes  its  life  ?  See,  beneath  us  lies  Ca- 
valla,  where  people  are  now  beginning  to  move  about.  The 
eyes  of  gossips  might  see  me,  and  the  sharp  tongues  of  cal- 
umny defame  my  father's  daughter.  That  may  not  be,  for 
the  sake  of  my  good  name,  and  for  your  sake  too,  Mohammed. 
Let  me  go  down  alone,  and  you  remain  until  you  see  me  de- 
scending the  stairway.  Do  not  go  down  until  then.  Do  not 
give  evil  tongues  occasion  to  suspect  and  speak  ill  of  me.  Let 
the  white  dove  that  is  to  wing  her  flight,  when  it  pleases  Al- 


MASA'S  JEWELRY.  135 

lah,  to  the  nest  you  have  prepared  for  her,  be  pure  and  with- 
out reproach.  Do  not  speak  one  more  word,  and  do  not  look 
at  me — only  see  how  weak  I  am  :  if  you  look  at  me  again  I 
shall  stand  still  and  wait  till  you  command  me  to  go.  Turn 
away  from  me  and  let  me  go.  Let  us  both  pray  to  Allah  that 
our  wishes  may  be  granted." 

He  turns  away  as  she  requested,  and  gazes  in  the  opposite 
direction,  at  the  blue  sky  and  the  foaming  sea.  He  sees  her 
not,  but  the  pain  he  feels  tells  him  Masa  is  leaving  ;  he  knows, 
without  hearing  her  footsteps,  that  she  is  walking  from  him. 
He  remains  above  as  she  had  requested.  After  a  while  he 
turns  around  and  looks  after  her.  He  sees  the  white  dove 
fluttering  downward  from  rock  to  rock,  and  at  last  disappear 
on  the  stairway  that  leads  to  Praousta. 

"  May  Allah  bless  her  mission,  that  I  may  live,  live  for 
Masa,  for  her  I  love  so  passionately  !  All  that  I  do  shall 
henceforth  be  for  her,  and  Mohammed's  life  will  be  bliss  and 
sunshine. " 


CHAPTER  IV. 
MASA'S  JEWELRY. 

( 

THE  village  of  Praousta  had  now  assumed  a  busy  look. 
The  men  had  assembled  around  the  mosque,  and  were  convers- 
ing in  eager,  anxious  tones. 

When  they  saw  the  veiled  girl  approaching  they  bowed 
their  heads  respectfully,  as  is  becoming  in  the  presence  of  the 
tinhappy.  They  knew  the  beautiful  Masa,  in  spite  of  her  veil. 
They  knew  she  had  gone  up  to  her  father  to  implore  him  to 
take  pity  on  himself  and  on  her.  They  now  stepped  up  to  her 
and  asked  if  her  father  still  lived,  and  if  there  was  any  hope 
of  preserving  his  life. 

"  His  life  is  in  your  hands,"  replied  Masa.  "  I  come  to  con- 
jure you  to  save  the  life  of  my  father,  and  of  the  noble  old 
men,  the  ulemas." 

"  How  can  we,  daughter  of  Sheik  Alepp  ?  "  cried  the  men. 
"  How  can  we  save  their  lives  ? " 


136  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  You  ask  me  ?  Then  I  will  tell  you  :  You  must  bow  your 
heads  beneath  the  yoke.  You  must  obey  the  commands  of 
the  tschorbadji." 

"  Never  !  never  ! "  cried  the  men.  "  Has  not  the  sheik 
himself  forbidden  us  to  do  so  ?  Did  not  the  ulemas,  as  late  as 
yesterday  evening  at  sunset,  command  us  in  Allah's  name  to 
be  firm?" 

"  They  did  command  it,"  cried  the  girl,  passionately,  "  and 
they  did  so  because  they  wished  to  do  their  duty  and  obey  the 
law.  But  it  devolves  upon  you,  ye  men,  to  obey  the  higher 
law  that  dwells  in  us.  Will  you,  ye  men  of  Praousta,  allow 
your  best  and  noblest  men  to  be  murdered  for  the  sake  of  a 
paltry  sum  of  money.  Do  you  wish  that  your  children  and 
grandchildren  should  one  day  point  at  you  and  say  :  '  Look 
at  them,  they  are  murderers  !  They  slaughtered  them  that 
they  might  keep  their  money,  that  they  might  keep  that  which 
they  held  dearest !  " 

"No,  Masa,  it  is  not  on  account  of  the  money  !  "  cried  the 
men.  "  It  is  a  question  of  our  honor,  of  law,  and  of  justice. 
And  therefore  the  sheik  has  commanded  us  not  to  pay.  A 
double  tax  was  imposed  on  us  ;  that  was  unjust.  The  sheik 
and  the  ulemas  say  that,  if  we  pay  this  double  tax,  they  will 
the  next  time  demand  a  treble,  and  the  third  time  a  quadruple 
tax.  In  this  way  they  would  consume  our  substance,  and  our 
fate  would  be  poverty  and  the  beggar's  staff.  Thus  spoke  the 
sheik  and  the  ulemas  as  late  as  yesterday  evening,  and  there- 
fore must  we  remain  firm,  and,  therefore,  oh,  forgive  us,  we 
should  not  dare  to  pay  even  if  we  could." 

"  But  we  cannot  even  do  it,"  cried  one  of  the  men.  "  No, 
Masa,  you  may  believe  us,  it  is  not  in  our  power.  The  tobacco- 
crop  has  turned  out  badly,  and  the  storms  have  destroyed  our 
nets,  and  let  the  fish  escape.  Really,  we  could  not  pay  even 
if  we  would.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  we  got 
the  simple  tax  together,  and  now  the  tschorbadji  sends  us 
word,  by  his  collectors,  that  we  must  pay  as  much  more.  By 
Allah,  it  is  impossible,  we  cannot  do  it." 

"  No,  it  is  impossible  ;  we  cannot  do  it,1'  cried  the  rest,  in  a 
chorus  of  lamentation. 

"  Then  you  are  ready  to  let  my  father  die — to  become  the 


MASA'S  JEWELRY.  137 

murderers  of  our  ulemas,"  cried  Masa,  falling  on  her  knees, 
and  stretching  out  her  arms  imploringly.  "  Oh,  be  merciful 
to  yourselves,  for  I  tell  you  the  evil  spirits  will  obtain  power 
over  you,  if  you  do  not  abandon  your  cruel  intention.  I  tell 
you,  misery  will  be  your  portion,  if  you  allow  your  noblest 
men  to  be  murdered  for  the  sake  of  vile  money." 

u  And  we  tell  you,  Masa,  that  we  cannot  pay,"  cried  the 
men,  in  defiant,  despairing  tones.  "  We  repeat,  and  call  Al- 
lah to  witness,  we  have  not  the  money  they  demand  of  us." 

"  You  have  not  this  money  ?  But  if  you  had  it,  would  you 
then  pay  ?  Would  you  bend  your  heads  to  save  the  heads  of 
our  noblest  men  ?  Would  you  go  to  the  tschorbadji  and  say  : 
'  Here  is  the  double  tax.  You  do  us  injustice,  yet  we  humble 
ourselves  in  order  to  save  the  lives  of  our  sheik  and  the 
ulemas  ! '  Say,  would  you  do  this  ? " 

The  people  made  no  reply,  but  cast  sorrowful  glances  at 
each  other,  and  whispered  among  themselves  : 

"  The  sheik  would  not  forgive  us  ;  he  gave  strict  orders 
that  we  should  not  pay." 

"  But  his  life,  and  the  lives  of  the  ulemas  are  at  stake," 
murmured  one  of  them. 

"  Yes,  his  life  is  at  stake  ! "  cried  Masa,  who  had  heard  this. 
UI  entreat  you  to  grant  my  request.  Let  each  of  you  go 
after  the  tax  he  has  laid  by,  and  then  come  with  me,  all  of  you, 
to  the  tschorbadji.  I  will  attend  to  the  rest." 

"  Masa,  what  are  you  about  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  men,  regard- 
ing her  in  astonishment.  "  It  does  not  become  a  woman  to 
meddle  with  such  affairs." 

"  It  becomes  a  daughter  to  save  her  father's  life.  This  is 
my  only  purpose,  and  may  Allah  assist  me  in  accomplishing 
it  I "  cried  she,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  pray  you,  go  after  the 
money,  and  wait  at  the  rocky  stairway.  I  am  only  going  to 
my  house,  and  shall  return  directly." 

She  flew  across  the  square  to  her  father's  house.  Two  fe- 
male servants,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  hall,  anxiously 
awaiting  the  return  of  their  mistress,  cried  out  with  joy,  and 
hastened  forward  to  kiss  her  hands. 

She  rushed  past  them  up  the  stairway,  and  into  her  room, 
locking  the  door  behind  her,  that  none  might  follow.  She 
10 


138  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE! 

then  took  hastily  from  a  trunk,  inherited  from  her  mother,  a 
casket,  adorned  with  mother-of-pearl  and  precious  stones. 
She  opened  it  and  looked  at  its  contents. 

"  Yes,  there  are  the  ear-rings  ;  and  there  are  the  tiara  and 
the  necklace." 

Her  mother  had  given  her,  on  her  death-hed,  these,  the  bri- 
dal ornaments  she  had  brought  with  her  from  her  father's 
house,  and  the  sheik  had  often  remarked  that  these  jewels 
were  worth  at  least  a  hundred  sequins. 

Until  now,  their  value  had  been  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
her.  What  cared  she  how  much  money  could  be  had  for  her 
pearls  and  necklace  ?  She  loved  this  jewelry  because  it  came 
from  her  mother,  but  now  she  thinks  differently. 

"  The  jewelry  is  worth  at  least  a  hundred  sequins,  and  the 
tax  certainly  does  not  amount  to  more.  And,  if  it  were  more, 
I  should  entreat  the  governor  until  he  accepted  the  jewelry  as 
the  second  tax.  Thus  it  shall  be.  O  dear  mother,  look  down 
upon  your  daughter,  and  do  not  be  angry  with  her  for  parting 
with  the  costly  souvenir  given  her  by  you  on  your  death- bed  ! 
Do  not  be  angry,  and  see  in  it  only  love  for  my  father  !  " 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  kissed  the  pearls  which  had  once 
adorned  her  mother  ;  kissed  the  necklace  and  the  tiara  that 
had  once  shone  on  her  dear  head. 

"  O  mother,  I  had  thought,  that  on  my  wedding-day,  I  too 
should  wear  these  costly  ornaments.  But  I  know  that  it  will 
be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him,  the  only  one  for  whom  I 
wish  this  day  to  come.  He  would  not  look  at  the  glittering 
jewels,  but  only  at  me.  I  therefore  willingly  part  with  them  ; 
I  do  not  care,  for  he  whom  I  love  will  not  be  grieved  if  I  come 
to  him  unadorned." 

A  blissful  smile  overspread  her  lovely  countenance. 

She  closed  and  locked  the  casket,  and  hid  it  under  her  veil. 
She  hastily  walked  down  the  stairway,  out  of  the  house,  and 
toward  the  mosque,  where  the  men  had  begun  to  assemble,  each 
one  bringing  with  him  his  proportion  of  the  tax. 

''Tell  me,  ye  men,"  asked  Masa,  quickly,  "what  is  the 
amount  of  the  tax  you  are  called  on  to  pay  ?  " 

''The  simple  tax,  Masa,  amounts  to  one  hundred  sequins. 
Consider  how  heavy  a  burden  this  alone  is.  There  are  hardly 


MASA'S  JEWELRY.  139 

fifty  men  of  us  living  here  in  Praousta,  and  really  it  seems  to 
us  quite  sufficient  that  each  of  us  has  two  sequins  to  pay  at  the 
end  of  each  summer.  But  to  pay  the  double  tax  is  simply  im- 
possible. Your  father  well  knew  this,  Masa,  and  he  therefore 
sternly  commanded  us  not  to  pay,  as  the  demand  was  con- 
trary to  law  and  justice." 

UA  hundred  sequins,"  cried  she,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"  Then  all  is  well.  Come,  ye  men  of  Praousta,  let  us  ascend 
the  stairway.  The  hour  of  the  second  prayer  has  not  yet 
come,  and  until  then,  with  the  tschorbadji's  consent,  Moham- 
med Ali  has  granted  us  a  respite.  Wait  on  the  crest  of  the 
rock  above  until  I  call  you.  I  shall  now  go  to  the  tschor- 
badji ;  pray  ye,  in  the  mean  while,  to  Allah,  that  my  words 
may  prove  effectual." 

She  ascended  the  stairway  with  flying  footsteps.  With  de- 
jected looks,  the  men  slowly  followed.  "  We  are  wrong  in  al- 
lowing her  to  persuade  us  to  submit  to  the  tschorbadji.  We 
will,  however,  pay  the  just  tax,  and  no  more.  We  would  not 
pay  more,  even  if  we  could.  Here  let  us  stay  and  await  the 
call  of  our  sheik's  daughter." 

"And  let  us  pray,  as  she  requested,"  murmured  others. 
On  bended  knees,  and  with  solemn  countenances,  the  men, 
but  now  so  noisy  and  fierce,  awaited  Masa's  return  in  silence. 

The  white  dove  flew  up  the  pathway,  through  the  court- 
yard, and  into  the  palace,  regardless  of  a  number  of  her 
father's  old  friends  who  were  lying  on  the  ground  before  the 
gate.  She  dare  not  stop  to  speak  to  them,  for  the  sheik 
would  seek  to  learn  on  what  errand  his  daughter  goes  alone 
into  the  palace.  If  she  should  tell  him,  he  would  command 
her  to  return  to  her  father's  harem,  there  to  await  in  patience 
the  fate  Allah  should  have  in  store  for  his  children.  No,  she 
cannot  approach  him,  cannot  brave  his  questioning ;  she 
would  then  be  compelled  to  disobey  him,  for  her  father's  life 
must  and  shall  be  preserved. 

The  tschorbadji  stood  in  the  lower  hall.  His  heart  was 
troubled,  and  his  countenance  sorrowful.  He  should  not  have 
permitted  Mohammed  Ali  to  go  so  far.  How  terrible  it  would 
be  if  this  execution  should  really  take  place  here  in  his  court- 
yard, if  the  heads  of  the  best  men  of  Praousta  should  really 


140  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

fall  to  the  ground  !  No,  he  should  not  have  permitted  tne 
stern,  pitiless  young  man  to  pledge  his  honor  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  what  he  had  undertaken.  He  had  already  asked  his 
son  Osman  to  seek  his  friend  and  entreat  him  to  desist  from 
his  stern  purpose.  Osman  was  now  pleading  with  his  friend 
in  soft,  persuasive  tones. 

"  Will  he  succeed  ? "  This  is  now  the  question  that  agitates 
the  tschorbadji.  He  had  sworn  by  all  that  was  holy  that  Mo- 
hammed should  have  his  will  ;  and  a  Moslem  cannot  break 
his  oath  ;  honor  forbids  it.  The  tschorbadji  knows  this  very 
well,  and  therefore  is  he  sorrowful  and  dejected.  Should  the 
young  man  persist,  he  must  therefore  unwillingly  allow  him 
to  carry  out  his  purpose.  He  sits  there  on  the  divan,  tortured 
with  doubt  and  apprehension.  Will  Mohammed  relent? 
Will  Osman  succeed  in  softening  his  heart  ? 

At  this  moment  the  door  opens,  and  a  veiled  woman  enters 
the  room.  She  advances  with  light  and  noiseless  footstep,  and 
kneels  down  before  the  tschorbadji. 

"  O  master,  be  merciful  to  your  servant !  Sheik  Alepp's 
daughter  kneels  before  you  !  Incline  your  heart  to  mercy, 
and  give  back  to  me  my  father  ! " 

"  Gladly  would  I  do  so,  were  it  in  my  power,"  sighed  he. 
"  I  swear  it  by  Allah  !  But  I  have  pledged  my  word  to  the 
young  man  to  whom  I  gave  authority  to  act  in  the  name  of 
the  law,  that  he  should  have  unlimited  power  to  do  as  he 
should  deem  proper  in  the  matter.  I  can  therefore  do  nothing, 
though  I  would  gladly  liberate  your  father  and  abandon  the 
collection  of  the  tax." 

"  O  master,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  give  up  the  tax  !  You  shall 
have  all  you  have  commanded  us  to  pay." 

"  You  are  prepared  to  pay  it  ? "  exclaimed  the  tschor- 
badji, joyously.  "Then  our  trouble  is  at  an  end.  But 
pray  why  are  you,  the  daughter  of  the  noble,  worthy  sheik, 
here  ? " 

"  I  have  come,  O  master,  because  I  have  an  act  of  mercy  to 
implore  at  your  hands.  The  men  of  Praousta  are  really  not 
able  to  pay  two  hundred  sequins,  but  what  they  lack  in  money 
I  have  in  money's  worth." 

"You  speak  in  enigmas,  maiden,"  said  the  tschorbadji. 


MASA'S   JEWELRY. 

"  You  have  the  money,  and  yet  you  have  it  not.  What  does 
this  mean  ? " 

"  I  have  not  the  money  in  coined  sequins,"  said  she,  looking 
toward  the  door  as  though  she  feared  Mohammed  might  enter 
and  be  angry  when  she  presented  her  love-offering.  "  Look 
at  this,  tschorbadji  ;  these  were  my  mother's  jewels,  hut  they 
are  now  mine,  and  no  one  else  has  a  right  to  them.  Gladly 
will  I  part  with  them  for  the  sake  of  the  men  of  our  village. 
I  have  often  been  told  that  these  jewels  are  worth  more  than 
a  hundred  sequins.  I  pray  you,  take  them  of  me  for  that 
sum." 

Still  kneeling,  she  handed  the  tschorbadji  the  casket  con- 
taining the  jewelry.  He  took  it  and  regarded  it  thought- 
fully. 

"Did  it  devolve  upon  me  alone  to  decide  this  question, 
gladly  would  I  take  the  jewelry,  good  maiden.  But  remem- 
ber, I  have  sworn  to  Mohammed  Ali  that  the  prisoners  should 
only  then  be  released  when  the  double  tax  shall  have  been 
paid  in  glittering  gold-pieces.  And  I  must  keep  my  word. 
Gladly  would  I  give  you  their  value,  but  I  must  confess  to  the 
daughter  of  my  sheik  that  I  have  not  in  my  possession  so 
large  a  sum.  But  remain  here  ;  a  thought  occurs  to  me,"  said 
he.  "The  ambassador  who  comes  from  Stamboul  for  the  tax, 
and  who  arrived  here  yesterday,  brought  with  him  for  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha  a  large  purse  filled  with  sequins.  If  I  show  him 
this  jewelry  and  ask  him — yes,  I  will  do  so.  Eemain  here, 
maiden,  until  I  return.  You  might  think  I  would  keep  your 
jewels  and  not  return.  Take  your  jewelry  and  remain  here. 
I  am  going  in  quest  of  one  who  may  be  able  to  assist  us.  I 
say  us.  for  I,  too,  shall  be  much  pleased  if  the  matter  can  be 
settled  in  this  peaceful  manner.  Wait  here,  daughter  of  my 
sheik,  while  I  go  in  search  of  one  who  can  settle  this  matter 
to  the  satisfaction  of  all  1 " 


14:2  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE.     : 

• 

CHAPTER  Y. 

THE  DELIVERANCE. 

"  THIS,  dear  sir,  is  the  woman  of  whom  I  spoke,"  said  the 
tschorbadji,  throwing  open  the  door  of  the  room,  and  stepping 
aside  respectfully  to  allow  his  distinguished  guest,  Cousrouf 
Pacha,  to  pass  in.  "  Salute  this  gentleman  with  reverence, 
daughter  of  my  sheik,"  said  he,  turning  to  Masa.  "You 
stand  in  the  presence  of  a  mighty  man  ;  he  alone  can  help 
you." 

"  O  master,  if  it  is  in  your  power,  I  pray  you  to  help  me," 
cried  the  maiden,  falling  upon  her  knees  before  the  pa- 
cha. "  Be  merciful  !  Deliver  my  father  from  his  prison  ;  de- 
liver us  all  from  fear  and  danger  ! " 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ? "  asked  Cousrouf,  haughtily, 
turning  to  the  tschorbadji,  who  had  respectfully  stepped  aside. 
"  You  bade  me  come  to  decide  an  important  question,  and  I 
find  here  only  a  young  woman  who  is  weeping.  What  does 
this  mean  ? " 

"  This  young  maiden  is  the  daughter  of  Sheik  Alepp,  who 
is,  as  you  know,  imprisoned  in  the  court-yard.  She  loves  her 
father  dearly,  and  has  continually  worked  and  pleaded  for 
him  since  his  imprisonment.  She  now  comes  to  say  that  the 
men  of  Praousta  are  really  not  able  to  pay  the  double  tax. 
You  know  that,  although  I  would  now  gladly  abandon  the 
collection  of  the  tax,  I  have  sworn  to  Mohammed  Ali  that  he 
alone  should  settle  the  matter.  This  tender-hearted  maiden 
has  now  thought  of  a  means  of  solving  this  difficulty.  She 
brings  these  jewels,  inherited  from  her  mother,  and  asks  me 
to  give  her  their  value,  a  sum  sufficient  to  pay  the  second  tax. 
I,  however,  am  a  poor  man,  and  have  not  the  hundred  sequins 
to  give  her  for  her  jewelry,  in  order  that  she  may  take  them 
to  the  people  of  Praousta,  for  from  them  only  will  Mohammed 
accept  payment  of  the  tax.  Therefore,  pardon  my  impor- 
tunity. You  are  rich  and  mighty  ;  when  your  purse  is  empty 
you  can  easily  refill  it.  You  are  noble  and  generous,  and  will 
perhaps  be  disposed  to  take  the  jewelry,  and  let  the  loving 


THE   DELIVERANCE.  143 

daughter  have  the  money  wherewith  to  obtain  the  deliverance 
of  her  father." 

"  Where  are  the  jewels  ? "  asked  the  pacha,  gazing  with 
impassioned  eyes  upon  the  veiled  figure  of  the  maiden  of 
whose  countenance  the  eyes  alone  were  visible.  But  they 
were  so  beautiful,  and  rested  upon  him  with  such  an  expres- 
sion of  tender  entreaty,  that  he  was  moved  to  the  depths  of  his 
soul.  "  Where  are  the  jewels  ? "  repeated  he,  slightly  bending 
down  over  her. 

She  raised  her  hand  and  gave  him  the  casket.  "  Here  they 
are,  noble  master.  May  Allah  soften  your  heart,  that  I  may 
not  be  deprived  of  my  beloved  father  ! "  He  listened  attentively 
to  this  voice.  It  seemed  to  him  he  had  never  heard  sweeter 
music  than  the  tender,  tremulous  tones  of  this  maiden  plead- 
ing for  her  father.  His  gaze  still  fixed  upon  her,  he  opened 
the  casket  and  glanced  indifferently  at  its  precious  contents. 
For  a  moment  a  strange  smile  played  about  his  lips,  and  he 
then  turned  with  a  mocking,  contemptuous  expression  of 
countenance,  and  addressed  the  tschorbadji  : 

"  Tschorbadji,  can  you  really  so  poorly  distinguish  between 
genuine  gold  and  precious  stones  and  a  worthless  imitation  ? 
These  are  playthings  for  children.  These  are  not  pearls,  and 
this  is  not  gold.  A  well-planned  swindle,  truly.  No  Jew 
would  give  you  two  sequins  for  these  things,  not  to  speak  of  a 
hundred." 

"  Swindle  ! "  she  cried,  springing  to  her  feet,  and  her  voice 
was  now  clear  and  threatening.  "  You  accuse  me  of  planning 
a  swindle  !  You  are  wrong,  sir  ;  and  if  there  be  any  one  here 
who  cannot  distinguish  true  gold  and  pearls  from  a  base  imi- 
tation, you  are  he  !  The  gold  and  pearls  are  genuine,  and 
were  inherited  by  me  from  my  mother,  who  was  the  daughter 
of  a  rich  jeweler  in  Stamboul.  She  bequeathed  them  to  me, 
and  the  casket  has  not  been  opened  before  since  her  death. 
And  you  accuse  me  of  attempting  to  defraud  you  !  You  act 
ungenerously. " 

"  Dear  sir,  forgive  her,  forgive  her  bold  words  !  "  said  the 
tschorbadji,  addressing  in  earnest  tones  the  pacha,  whose  eager 
gaze  was  still  fixed  on  the  maiden.  It  seemed  as  though  her 
anger  had  power  to  excite  his  sympathy  and  admiration. 


144  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  It  is  of  no  moment,"  said  he,  haughtily.  "  I  pray  you, 
tschorbadji,  withdraw  into  the  adjoining  room.  I  wish  to 
converse  with  her  alone,  and  if  in  my  power  I  will  assist  her, 
notwithstanding  her  imitation  jewelry." 

"  O  master,  you  are  assuredly  wrong,"  urged  the  maiden. 
"  The  pearls  are  real,  and  the  gold  of  the  purest.  I  swear  it 
by  Allah  !  If  you  do  not  intend  to  purchase  my  jewelry,  and 
enable  me  to  save  my  father,  tell  me  so  at  once,  but  you  must 
not  mock  me." 

"  I  am  not  mocking  you  ! — Kindly  withdraw  into  the  next 
room,  tschorbadji,  but  leave  the  door  open.  You  shall  see  all 
that  passes  between  us,  but  I  beg  that  you  will  close  your  ear. 
I  wish  to  deal  with  the  maiden  alone,  and  it  concerns  no  one 
to  hear  what  we  have  to  say." 

"I  shall  withdraw  to  the  farther  end  of  the  adjoining 
room,  where  no  word  of  your  conversation  can  reach  me," 
said  the  tschorbadji,  respectfully.  The  pacha  smiled  conde- 
scendingly on  the  tschorbadji,  who  walked  into  the  next  room, 
and  seated  himself  at  its  farthest  end. 

"  Now,  daughter  of  Sheik  Alepp,  now  we  will  consider  this 
matter,"  said  the  pacha.  "  I  am  willing  to  assist  you,  but  you 
must  do  your  part." 

"  Master,  what  shall  I  do  ?    I  am  anxious  to  do  all  I  can." 

"  Do  you  love  your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  master  !  I  love  him  with  all  my  soul ;  he  is  the 
master  given  me  by  Allah,  and  he  is  at  the  same  time  my 
friend.  He  is  every  thing  to  me,  mother,  brother,  sister.  We 
two  are  alone  together,  and  love  nothing  in  the  world  but  each 
other  ! " 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  for  you,  poor  child  ! "  said  the  pacha. 
"  Your  father  is  lost  if  the  tax  is  not  paid.  You  say  yourself 
that  the  men  of  Praousta  cannot  pay  the  double  tax,  and 
should  they  fail  to  do  so  the  heads  of  the  four  prisoners  must 
fall." 

"  Be  merciful !  0  master,  be  merciful,"  cried  Masa.  "  You 
are  rich  and  mighty.  You  can  save  him.  Oh,  save  him!" 

"  You  are  in  error,"  said  the  pacha,  "  in  this  case  I  am  power- 
less ;  even  the  tschorbadji  can  do  nothing.  He  pledged  his 
word  to  Mohammed  Ali  ;  he  took  the  triple  oath  that  he  would 


THE  DELIVERANCE.  145 

allow  him  to  act  as  he  should  think  hest  in  this  matter.  Mo- 
hammed Ali  has  sworn  that  the  heads  of  the  prisoners  shall 
fall  unless  the  people  of  Praousta  pay  the  tax,  and  that  he  will 
behead  them  himself  if  no  other  executioner  can  be  found." 

"  Horrible  !  and  thus  was  his  oath,"  cried  Masa,  shudder- 
ing. '"  I  pray  you,  master,  tell  me,  were  these  his  words  ;  did 
he  swear  he  would  himself  execute  my  father  ? " 

"  He  did.  And,  believe  me,  the  youth  will  keep  his  word. 
He  is  blood-thirsty  and  cruel,  and  it  will  gladden  his  heart  to 
cool  his  wrath  in  your  father's  blood." 

"  No  !  It  is  impossible  ! "  cried  Masa,  in  terror.  "  He  can- 
not be  so  cruel,  and  he  is  not ! " 

"  Then  you  know  him  ? "  said  the  pacha,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  hatred. 

"  I  saw  him  this  morning,  and  implored  him  to  be  merci- 
ful. I  went  down  on  my  knees  before  him,  and  besought  him 
not  to  take  my  father's  life." 

''  And  yet  he  will  do  it !  I  tell  you  this  Mohammed  is  a 
fierce  youth.  Mercy  is  a  word  of  which  he  knows  nothing. 
You  yourself  have  seen  that  he  is  relentless." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  she  ;  "  he  is  relentless." 

"  There  is,  therefore,  nothing  to  be  hoped  for  from  him," 
said  the  pacha.  "The  tax  must  be  paid,  or  the  prisoners' 
heads  fall." 

She  sighed  profoundly,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  She  knows  it  is  so  ;  he  told  her  so  himself,  in  an 
agony  of  pain  and  sorrow.  The  men  must  pay  the  tax,  or  all 
is  lost ;  her  father,  or  he  whom  she  loves,  must  die.  She 
knows  and  feels  this  ;  and,  therefore,  has  she  come  to  implore 
mercy  of  the  stranger,  whose  gaze  fills  her  with  anxiety  and 
terror.  She  thinks  of  her  father,  and  of  the  youth  whom  she 
loves,  and  her  tongue  is  eloquent,  for  she  is  pleading  for  both. 

"  I  can  help  you,"  said  the  pacha,  tranquilly  and  haughtily, 
"  and  I  will  do  so." 

"  You  will  ? "  cried  she,  joyously  ;  and  her  eyes  sparkled 
like  the  stars  of  heaven,  and  filled  the  pacha,  whose  gaze  was 
still  fixed  on  her,  with  delight.  "  You  will  help  me,  gracious 
master,  sent  by  Allah  to  my  assistance,  you  will  deliver  my 
father  from  prison  ? " 


l-J-6  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"I  will,"  replied  the  pacha.  "That  is,  it  depends  on 
whether  you  will  grant  a  request  of  mine,  and  do  what  I 
wish." 

"  And  what  is  it  you  desire,  master  ? "  asked  the  innocent, 
anxious  maiden  iu  tremulous  tones. 

He  gazed  on  her  passionately,  a  smile  lighting  up  his 
countenance.  "  Lift  your  veil,  and  let  me  look  upon  your 
countenance." 

She  shuddered,  and  drew  her  veil  so  closely  about  her  face, 
that  it  concealed  her  eyes  also. 

"  O  master  ! "  said  she,  in  low  tones  of  entreaty.  "  As  you 
know,  the  custom  of  our  land  forbids  a  girl  to  appear  unveiled 
before  a  man. " 

"  Unless  he  be  the  man  who  takes  her  into  his  harem," 
replied  he,  smiling. 

"Yes,  master,  only  before  him  whom  she  follows  into  the 
harem  ;  and  then  only  when  she  has  already  followed  him, 
may  she  \mveil  her  face  before  him.  Therefore,  be  merciful, 
O  master  !  Honor  the  custom  of  our  land,  and  do  not  demand 
of  me  what  I  could  never  confess  to  my  father  ! " 

"  Silly  girl,"  answered  he.  "  I  do  demand  it,  and,  if  it  is 
denied  me,  your  father's  head  falls.  You  admit  he  is  the  only 
man  you  love,  and  your  only  shield.  When  he  is  dead,  you 
will  be  a  beggar,  and  will  not  even  be  able  to  purchase  a  veil, 
for  the  poor  are  everywhere  unveiled,  and  are,  on  that  account, 
no  worse  than  you  who  mask  your  faces  with  veils.  There- 
fore, daughter  of  the  sheik,  lift  your  veil  ! " 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  ! "  she  exclaimed,  raising  her  hands  en- 
treatingly.  "  I  cannot  do  what  you  desire.  I  dare  not.  I 
have  sworn  an  oath  !  " 

"  An  oath  ?  "  said  he,  gazing  at  her  piercingly.  "  To  whom 
did  you  swear  this  oath  ? " 

She  trembled,  and  did  not  reply.  She  felt  that  she  must 
not  confess  the  truth,  for  that  would  be  to  invoke  destruction 
upon  the  head  of  Mohammed. 

"  I  swore  it  to  myself,"  she  whispered  in  low  tones.  "  I 
swore  to  remain  pure  and  honest,  as  beseemed  my  mother's 
daughter,  and  never  to  raise  my  veil  in  the  presence  of  a 
strange  man." 


THE  DELIVERANCE. 

"  Then  keep  your  oath  ! "  said  he,  stepping  close  to  her. 
"  You  shall  not  raise  your  veil,  but  I  will  ;  I  will  do  it.  I 
must  see  your  face  before  I  fulfil  my  promise,  before  I  deliver 
your  father  from  prison." 

He  raised  his  arm.  She  sought  to  defend  herself,  and 
prayed  for  mercy.  In  vain  !  With  a  quick  movement  he 
lifted  her  veil,  and  fastened  his  gaze  on  her  countenance.  At 
that  moment  a  cry  resounded  through  the  apartment,  a  cry  of 
rage,  and  at  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  appeared  Moham- 
med Ali,  pale  and  infuriated.  He  was  about  to  rush  into  the 
room,  but  with  a  bound  the  tschorbadji  sprang  to  his  side, 
grasped  him  with  all  the  strength  which  his  anxiety  gave  him, 
drew  him  back,  closed  the  door,  locked  it,  and  drew  the  key 
out  of  the  lock. 

"  You  ought  not  to  enter,  and,  by  Allah,  you  shall  not ! " 

"  I  must  enter  ! "  cried  Mohammed,  gnashing  his  teeth,  and 
looking  like  an  enraged  lion,  as  he  endeavored  to  wrest  the  key 
from  the  tschorbadji.  But  the  latter  grasped  the  key  firmly, 
and  anxiously  called  his  son. 

"  What  has  happened  ? "  asked  Osman  in  anxious  tones,  as 
he  entered  the  room.  Mohammed  stood  still,  controlling  his 
wrath  with  a  gigantic  effort. 

"  You  ask,  Osman,  what  has  happened.  Within  is  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha  with  the  sheik  Alepp's  daughter,  and  he  treats 
with  her  for  her  honor  and  innocence,  and  she  allows  him  to 
do  so  ! "  cried  he,  loudly  and  fiercely. 

" That  is  not  true,"  said  the  governor.  "You  accuse  him 
wrongly.  There  is  no  reason  why  all  the  world  should  not 
see  and  hear  what  is  going  on  within.  It  is  your  fault  alone 
that  I  found  it  necessary  to  lock  the  door.  What  was  your  ob- 
ject in  coming  ? " 

"  I  came  because  the  decisive  hour  has  arrived,  and  I  saw, 
in  the  adjoining  room,  Cousrouf  Pacha  raising  the  girl's  veil." 

"You  came  and  rushed  past  me  like  a  madman.  How  do 
the  girl's  actions  concern  you.  She  came  to  seek  deliverance 
for  her  father." 

"  How  her  actions  concern  me,  you  ask,  tschorbadji  ? "  he 
cried,  clinching  his  fists.  "  How  Masa's  actions  concern  me, 
you  wish  to  know  ? " 


148  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Be  still,  Mohammed  ! "  said  Osman,  whose  keen  vision 
had  read  the  youth's  soul,  in  low,  entreating  tones.  "  I  pray 
you  do  not  betray  your  secret." 

Mohammed  shook  convulsively,  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  "  It  is  true,"  he  murmured.  "  I  must  and  will  be 
silent.  She  is  lost  to  me.  I  will  think  of  nothing  but  revenge, 
let  all  else  be  forgotten. — Tschorbadji,  you  swore  that  I  alone 
should  decide  the  fate  of  the  prisoners,  and  you  will  keep  your 
oath!" 

"  I  will  keep  my  oath,  as  beseems  an  honest  man,  yet  I 
hope,  Mohammed,  that  you  will  not  be  relentless  ;  if  you  had 
heard,  as  I  have,  the  poor  young  girl's  lamentations,  it  would 
have  softened  your  heart,  and  it  would  not  have  become 
necessary  to  resort  to  the  pacha. " 

"  As  if  he  could  assist  her,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  u  As 
if  all  assistance  were  not  now  out  of  the  question." 

"Be  composed,  Mohammed,"  said  Osman,  entreatingly,  as 
he  threw  his  arms  around  his  friend's  neck.  "  Do  not  com- 
plain, do  not  accuse.  Be  firm,  and  prove  that  you  have  a 
strong  and  noble  heart." 

He  cried  out  in  piercing  tones,  as  the  lion  cries  when  it 
sees  the  hyena  rending  his  young,  as  the  eagle  cries  when  the 
storm-wind  sweeps  away  its  nest  with  its  young.  Then  in 
wild  emotion  he  threw  his  arms  around  his  friend's  neck,  and 
groaned  heavily.  Within,  in  the  saloon,  nothing  could  be 
heard  of  the  loud  talking  in  the  adjoining  room.  The  pacha 
still  held  the  veil  high  uplifted  and  gazed  at  Masa. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  he,  in  low,  soft  tones.  She 
cast  down  her  eyes  before  his  passionate  glances,  and  a  deep 
blush  suffused  itself  over  her  features,  making  her  still  more 
beautiful. 

"  My  name  is  Masa,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice.  "  But 
I  pray  you,  sir,  let  my  veil  fall  over  my  face  again.  I  am 
afraid  ! " 

"  Let  me  gaze  on  you  one  short  moment  longer,"  whispered 
he,  ardently.  "  You  are  beautiful,  Masa,  as  are  the  stars  of 
heaven,  as  are  the  blush-roses  in  my  garden.  No,  you  are  still 
more  beautiful,  for  they  soon  fade,  but  you  are  in  the  rosy 
dawn  of  your  loveliness,  and  your  youth  is  still  radiant  in  the 


THE   DELIVERANCE.  149 

morning-dew  of  innocence.  Oh,  you  are  surpassingly  beauti- 
ful, and  it  seems  to  me  the  prophet  has  graciously  sent  me  one 
of  his  houris  from  Paradise." 

"  I  entreat  you,  sir,  let  go  my  veil,"  said  she,  in  dismay, 
while  two  great  tears  trickled  through  her  long  black  eyelashes 
and  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  These  are  pearls,  more  beautiful  pearls,  Masa,  than  are 
contained  in  yonder  casket,"  whispered  the  pacha.  "They 
will  be  genuine  pearls  if  you  let  me  kiss  them  from  your 
cheeks." 

She  stepped  back  proudly,  tore  the  veil  from  his  hand,  and 
drew  it  down  over  her  face  again.  "  I  have  given  no  one  the 
right  to  insult  me,  and  you  insult  me  ! " 

"  How  musical  this  sounds  !  How  sweet  these  words  of  in- 
dignant innocence  ! " 

At  this  moment  Mohammed's  voice,  in  loud,  angry  tones, 
was  heard  in  the  adjoining  room.  The  pacha  smiled,  and 
motioned  with  his  head  in  that  direction. 

"  You  have  seen  Mohammed  Ali,  and  you  now  hear  him  ; 
he  is  a  desperado,  and  will  kill  your  father  ! " 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  "  he  will  now  be  pitiless, 
he  will  now  kill  him." 

"  But  I,"  said  the  pacha,  in  gentle  tones,  "  I  have  pity,  and 
I  will  save  your  father." 

"  You  will  save  him  ? "  she  said,  tremblingly. 

"  I  will,"  said  he.  "  But  hear  me,  Masa,  charming  crimson 
rose,  hear  me." 

"  I  am  listening,"  said  she,  sobbing. 

He  did  not  heed  this,  but  stepped  nearer,  and  bent  down 
over  her.  "  Masa,  your  jewelry  I  will  not  take,  I  want  no 
such  recompense  ;  you  shall  even  have  money,  all  you  may 
desire,  if  I  can  purchase  you  with  it." 

"  Me,  sir  ?  "  she  cried,  in  horror.  "  You  wish  to  purchase 
me  ? " 

"  Why  are  you  so  terrified  ?  I  have  in  my  harem  many 
women  who  are  as  beautiful  and  young  as  you  are,  and  of 
much  nobler  birth,  and  they  esteem  themselves  happy  in  be- 
longing to  me.  But  I  tell  you,  Masa,  I  will  hold  you  higher 
than  them  all.  You  shall  rule  over  them  all,  and  they  shall 


150  MOHAMMED  ALI  AXD  HIS  HOUSE. 

all  bow  down  before  you,  for  Cousrouf  Pacha  will  set  them  the 
example.  By  Allah  !  I  swear  it  to  you  with  the  triple  oath  : 
not  my  slave,  but  my  favorite,  shall  you  be.  Cousrouf  Pacha 
will  honor  you  as  the  first,  as  the  queen  of  his  harem." 

"  It  is  impossible,  sir,"  she  cried,  in  terror.  "  My  father's 
daughter  cannot  sell  herself.  She  is  a  free  woman,  and  must 
remain  so." 

"Then  remain  so,  and  your  father  dies,"  said  he,  com- 
posedly. "  Plume  yourself  with  your  freedom,  but  say,  too, 
in  your  proud  arrogance,  that  you  are  the  murderess  of  your 
father.  For,  I  say  to  you,  Mohammed  swore  the  oath,  and  he 
will  keep  it.  Your  father  will  die,  and  you  will  be  his 
murderess." 

"  Allah  be  merciful !  I  cannot  allow  my  father  to  die. 
No  !  "  she  groaned  aloud. 

"  He  dies  if  you  do  not  accept  what  I  offer.  I  repeat  it, 
wealth  and  honors  shall  be  yours.  The  daughter  of  the  poor 
sheik  of  the  wretched  village  shall  become  the  favorite  of  the 
pacha.  I  shall  not  remain  here  long.  The  message  will  soon 
come  that  calls  me  to  Stamboul  ;  and  you,  Masa,  shall  go  with 
me.  At  the  court  of  the  grand-vizier  you  shall  be  the  first ;  I 
will  honor  you  above  all  the  rest,  and  lay  at  your  feet  all  that 
I  possess,  for  you  are  beautiful,  and  my  heart  is  filled  with 
love  for  you.  I  will  make  you  happy  at  my  side.  And  now 
decide.  Without  in  the  iron  cage  stands  your  father  awaiting 
his  deliverance,  and  here  stands  his  daughter,  and  beside  her 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  who  offers  her  money,  all  she  may  desire, 
and  lays  every  thing  that  he  possesses  at  her  feet.  If  you  ac- 
cept this  offer,  Masa,  your  father  walks  out  of  his  prison  a  free 
man  in  spite  of  the  blood-thirsty  youth.  Take  the  money  and 
do  not  think  I  am  purchasing  you  ;  it  shall  only  be  an  earnest 
of  your  future.  If  you  suppose  you  are  to  be,  as  you  say,  a 
slave,  you  are  mistaken.  You  will  only  become  the  slave  of 
your  love  for  me." 

"•  No,  sir  !  never  can  I  love  you,"  she  cried,  vehemently. 

"  You  cannot  ?  It  is  thus  the  heart  of  the  wild-dove  speaks  ! 
Masa,  you  will,  because  you  will  be  touched  by  my  love. 
When  you  see  me  doing  every  thing  to  make  you  happy  it 
will  touch  your  heart,  and  you  will  love  me." 


THE   DELIVERANCE.  151 

At  this  moment  loud  cries  and  lamentations  were  heard 
from  without. 

"  Those  are  the  men  of  Praousta,  who  have  come  up  and  are 
lamenting.  Do  you  not  hear  the  call  from  the  mosque  ?  The 
second  hour  of  prayer  is  at  hand,  the  time  has  come.  Decide, 
Masa  ! '' 

She  sank  down  on  her  knees,  groaning  ;  and  prayed  to 
Allah  for  mercy. 

"  O  Masa,"  said  the  pacha,  raising  her  from  her  knees, 
u  Cousrouf  prays  to  you,  be  merciful  to  your  father  ;  yield,  be 
mine  and  save  him." 

Loud  cries  of  grief  again  resounded  without.  Masa  shook 
with  terror.  "  I  cannot  allow  my  father  to  die,  I  cannot  !  I 
yield,  I  am  ready  ;  give  me  the  money,  that  I  may  bring  it  to 
these  people." 

"  I  will  give  it  to  you,  and  you  shall  rescue  your  father. 
And  now  you  are  mine  ;  not  my  slave,  but  my  queen.  Go 
up  into  my  harem  while  I  take  the  money  out  to  these  peo- 
ple." 

"  No,  not  so,"  she  cried,  entreatingly.  "  Leave  me  my  free- 
dom for  this  one  day  only  ;  let  me  remain  this  one  day  with 
my  father,  and  do  not  let  him  have  a  suspicion  of  the  price  I 
have  paid  for  his  liberty." 

"  Then  let  it  be  so,"  said  he,  regarding  her  fixedly.  "  You 
swear,  by  the  memory  of  your  mother,  that  you  will  volun- 
tarily return  to  my  harem  early  to-morrow  morning." 

"  I  swear,  by  the  memory  of  my  mother,  that  I  will  return 
here  early  to-morrow  morning." 

''  You  will  come  to  the  back-gate  of  my  garden,  where  my 
servants  will  await  you  to  conduct  you  to  me.  And  now  I  am 
going  after  the  money.  Go  into  the  adjoining  room,  to  the 
tschorbadji." 

He  opened  the  door,  and  beckoned  to  the  governor. 
"  Await  me  here  a  moment ;  I  am  going  after  the  money  with 
which  to  release  the  prisoners." 

He  turned  to  her  once  more  :  "  You  understand,  until  early 
to-morrow  morning.  You  have  sworn  by  all  you  hold  sacred 
—by  Allah  and  by  your  mother." 

"  Yes,  I  have  so  sworn,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 


152  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"You  will  keep  your  word,  and  henceforth  you  will  belong 
to  me  ;  for  you  are  now  mine  :  remember  this.  You  are  mine 
wherever  you  go,  my  property,  my  slave.  This  evening,  when 
the  night  sinks  down,  and  when  your  father  has  retired  to 
rest,  then  you  will  come  to  my  garden,  where  I  shall  await 
you  with  my  eunuchs." 

"  I  shall  come,  master.  Am  I  not  your  slave,  and  have 
you  not  paid  for  me  ?  " 

He  nodded  to  her,  and  then  turned  and  left  the  room. 

Masa  drew  her  veil  closer  about  her  face,  that  none  might 
see  that  it  was  wet  with  her  tears. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  FLIGHT. 

THE  court-yard  without  now  presents  a  busy  appearance. 
The  fishermen  of  Praousta,  becoming  impatient  and  anxious, 
had  hurried  in  a  body  up  the  stairway  in  the  rock.  When  the 
signal  for  the  morning  prayer  was  sounded  from  the  minarets 
they  knew  that  nothing  was  to  be  hoped  for  from  the  efforts 
of  the  sheik's  daughter,  and  they  agreed  among  themselves 
that  they  would  go  up  in  a  body  and  petition  for  mercy. 

They  hastily  agreed  upon  what  they  should  say  to  the 
governor,  and  determined,  of  course,  in  their  generosity  of 
heart,  that  they  would  yield,  and  promise  the  governor  to  pay 
the  double  tax  if  he  would  only  patiently  wait  a  little  while. 
This  was  their  resolve.  The  sheik  and  the  ulemas  must  be 
rescued,  cost  what  it  might.  With  this  firm  resolve  they  has- 
tened up  the  stairway,  entered  the  outer  court-yard  of  the 
palace,  and  loudly  demanded  to  be  conducted  to  the  governor. 

But  their  clamors  were  in  vain.  At  the  gate  of  the  palace 
stood  the  eight  soldiers  of  the  body-guard,  with  drawn 
swords,  prepared  to  defend  the  entrance. 

Enraged,  the  fishermen  pressed  forward  with  uplifted 
knives,  threatening  destruction  to  all  who  should  attempt  to 
bar  their  passage. 


THE  FLIGHT.  153 

"  Where  is  the  governor  ?  We  must  speak  with  him  ;  we 
must  have  mercy." 

"  No,  no  mercy,"  cried  a  loud,  sonorous  voice  ;  and,  as  they 
turned  in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice  came,  they  saw 
a  fearful  object  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  court-yard — the 
block  covered  with  black  cloth.  Near  by,  proudly  erect,  his 
lips  firmly  compressed,  as  if  to  repress  words  of  imprecation 
or  wrath  that  struggled  for  utterance,  stood  Mohammed  Ali, 
like  an  angry  spirit,  ready  to  judge  and  to  punish.  Thus  he 
stood  there,  and,  behind,  a  slave  holding  in  his  hands  the  glit- 
tering axe.  "  Behold  this,  ye  men  of  Praousta,  and  bow  down 
in  the  dust ;  pay  what  the  tschorbadji  has  demanded  of  you, 
or  the  heads  of  my  prisoners  shall  fall  as  I  have  sworn." 

Horror,  rage,  and  anger,  were  combined  in  the  single  cry 
that  resounded  from  the  breasts  of  all. 

"  Mercy,  mercy  !  you  cruel  boy  !  Do  you  intend  to  prevent 
the  men  of  Praousta  from  returning  tranquilly  to  their  homes  ? 
do  you  wish  to  make  slaves  of  them  ? " 

"  1  have  authority  to  act  as  I  am  acting,  and  I  will  grant 
no  mercy  to  the  men  of  Praousta.  Men  must  obey  the  laws, 
and  humbly  submit  to  them  ;  and  this  you  have  not  done,  ye 
rebels  !  Why  have  you  followed  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas  ? 
You  see  they  must  bow  down  in  the  dust,  after  all ;  and,  un- 
less you  pay  the  tax  demanded  by  the  tschorbadji,  they  shall 
die." 

"  Listen,  ye  men  of  Praousta,  listen  !  "  cried  a  loud  voice 
from  one  of  the  windows  of  the  palace. 

There  stood  Cousrouf  Pacha,  beckoning  to  the  fishermen 
with  his  uplifted  hand. 

"  Come  into  the  palace  ;  I  wish  to  speak  with  you. — Make 
free  the  passage,  ye  soldiers  !  In  the  name  of  the  tschorbadji, 
I  command  you  to  allow  these  men  to  enter  ! " 

With  a  loud  shout  the  men  rushed  toward  the  door,  and 
the  body-guard  stepped  aside,  and  left  the  passage  free. 

Mohammed's  glittering  eyes  followed  them,  and  he  sud- 
denly turned  pale,  for  Masa's  lovely  form  now  appeared  on  the 
threshold  of  the  palace.  A  cry  resounded  from  his  lips.  He 
stood  helpless  and  motionless  with  anger  and  humiliation.  It 
was  now  clear  to  him.  She,  who  had  sworn  to  love,  who  had 
11 


154  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

sworn  by  her  father's  spirit  that  no  man  but  he  should  ever 
raise  her  veil,  had  proved  unfaithful.  She  had  broken  her 
sacred  oath  !  She,  whom  he  now  loved  with  his  whole  heart 
and  soul,  had  blasted  his  hopes.  The  thought  almost  stopped 
the  beating  of  his  heart.  "  Masa  shall  repent !  Mohammed 
will  wreak  vengeance  upon  humanity  for  her  broken  faith." 

He  trembled,  and  pressed  his  lips  firmly  together,  when  her 
white  figure  appeared  in  the  doorway.  But  Masa  saw  him  not, 
nor  thought  of  him  ;  her  whole  attention  was  occupied  with  her 
father.  With  a  joyous  cry,  and  widely-extended  arms,  she 
flew  to  the  enclosure.  "  O  father,  O  my  father,"  cried  she,  in 
loud,  exultant  tones,  "  you  are  free  ! " 

"  Free  ? "  exclaimed  the  sheik.  "  It  is  impossible  !  It 
cannot  be  ! " 

Mohammed  sprang  forward,  and  thrust  Masa  aside  with 
such  force  that  she  sank  upon  the  ground.  A  cry  of  anguish 
escaped  her  lips.  She  veiled  herself,  and  gazed  at  him  with 
anxious,  imploring  glance.  He  could  not  endure  it ;  he 
turned  his  eyes  away  from  her  ;  he  would  not  see  her ;  he 
would  be  as  strong  in  his  hatred  as  he  was  in  his  love  ! 

"There  is  no  mercy  for  the  traitoress ! '"  murmured  he. 
"  I  will  punish  thee  for  thy  unfaithfulness.  I  will  revenge 
myself  upon  thee  ! " 

The  men  of  Praousta  now  issue  from  the  house,  and  shout 
joyfully  before  the  cage  in  which  the  aged  men  are  im- 
prisoned : 

"  You  are  saved — you  are  free.  A  noble  man  was  found 
who  sent  us  assistance.  Long  live  Cousrouf  Pacha,  your  de- 
liverer ! " 

The  pacha  threw  open  the  window.  He  stood  there,  his 
form  proudly  erect.  Upon  his  turban  glittered  the  golden 
half-moon  ;  above  it  waved  the  eagle's  wing  ;  the  sun  fell 
upon  his  sword  and  richly-chased  poniard,  playing  gayly  with 
the  precious  stones  with  which  his  garments  were  adorned. 
His  eyes  sparkled,  and  a  wondrous  smile  hovered  about  his 
lips.  And  again  they  shouted  :  "  Long  live  Cousrouf  Pacha, 
our  deliverer  in  time  of  need,  our  savior  ! " 

He  bowed  his  haughty  head,  and  his  eyes  rested  pas- 
sionately upon  the  young  maiden,  kneeling  upon  the  ground 


THE  FLIGHT.  155 

in  her  agony.  From  her  his  glance  passed  over  to  Moham- 
med All.  He  saw  the  pain  and  anguish  imprinted  upon  the 
livid  countenance  of  the  youth,  and  smiled  triumphantly. 

He  withdrew  from  the  window,  and  hastened  down  to  the 
court-yard,  followed  by  the  tschorbadji.  He  approached 
Masa,  and,  bending  over  her,  said,  softly  :  "  Rise,  daughter  of 
thy  father.  Your  sorrow  and  trouble  have  passed  away.  Be 
gay  and  happy  once  more.  That  which  wicked  men  sought 
to  do  unto  you  has  been  frustrated.  Your  father  is  free. — 
Tschorbadji,"  said  he,  "  command  your  servant  Mohammed — 
command  him  to  unlock  the  gate  of  this  cage,  and  to  release 
the  prisoners  he  has  guarded  so  closely." 

"  No  !  "  shouted  Mohammed,  in  a  voice  of  thunder.  With 
my  consent  alone  can  it  be  opened  ! — Guard  the  gates,  ye 
officers  ;  I  go  in  quest  of  the  key  ;  and  not  one  shall  be  re- 
leased until,  kneeling  at  my  feet,  with  their  heads  in  the  dust, 
the  rebels  pay  to  me  the  double  tax.  What  I  have  sworn — 
what  I  have  sworn  by  my  honor,  that  must  be  done." 

"  We  will  not  consent !  We  will  never  yield  ! "  cried  the 
men,  rushing  about  in  confusion. 

"  Then  the  prisoners'  heads  shall  fall  ! "  cried  he,  exult- 
ingly  waving  his  sword  in  the  air.  "  The  hour  until  which  I 
granted  a  respite  has  come  ;  the  gold  has  not  been  paid  ;  the 
law  cannot  be  broken  with  impunity.  You  pay,  or  the  hour 
of  vengeance  is  at  hand  !  " 

"  We  will  not  kneel ;  we  will  not  humiliate  ourselves  be- 
fore you,  you  boy  ! " 

With  his  sword  still  threateningly  raised,  Mohammed  gazed 
around  him. 

The  tschorbadji  and  his  son  now  approached  the  men,  and 
pleaded  with  them  urgently.  They  explained  to  them  that 
Mohammed  was  in  the  right ;  that  he  could  not  act  differently. 
As  he  had  sworn  by  his  honor  to  force  them  to  pay  the  double 
tax,  he  must  therefore  keep  to  his  word. 

"  Do  as  he  tells  you,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  in  an  entreating 
tone  ;  "  pay  the  tax  he  demands.  Do  it,  ye  men  !  I  will  re- 
ward you  well,  if  you  do  as  I  say.  He  who  goes  to  Moham- 
med to  pay  the  money,  he  can  ask  at  my  hands  a  favor." 

The  men's  anger  became  subdued  by  the  soft,  kind  words 


156  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

of  their  master.  With  bowed  heads  and  gloomy  aspect,  they 
approached  Mohammed  Ali,  who  still  stood  with  threatening 
sword  before  the  cage. 

"  We  kneel  before  you  in  the  dust ;  we  have  returned  to 
our  duty,1'  said  one  of  the  men.  "  Here  are  the  two  sequins 
that  I  have  to  pay." 

"  Here  are  mine,"  "  And  mine,"  cried  they  all,  with  one  ac- 
cord. They  knelt  and  offered  Mohammed  the  gold. 

He  did  not  take  it ;  but,  gazing  steadfastly  and  bitterly  at 
the  pacha,  he  thrust  them  aside  with  a  movement  of  impa- 
tience. "Lay  your  gold  upon  the  block.  What,  through 
your  obstinacy,  has  occurred,  cannot  be  obliterated  by  your 
gold.  Lay  your  gold  upon  the  block,  for  to  it  you  offer  your 
gold." 

Laughing  wildly,  he  turned  and  bowed  before  the  veiled 
maiden.  "  But  you  pay  for  it  with  your  honor,  with  your 
shame." 

She  fell  forward,  and  a  shriek  of  agony  burst  from  her  lips. 
But  she  still  gazed  with  tender  eyes  upon  the  youth  who  looked 
down  upon  her  so  fiercely. 

"  Traitoress  !    You  have  forgotten  your  oath  ! " 

"  No,  Mohammed,"  whispered  she.     "  Hear  me  ! " 

"Away  from  me!  do  you  still  wish  to  deceive  me?" 
Again  he  thrust  her  from  him.  Masa  would  have  fallen,  had 
not  Osman  hurried  forward  and  sustained  her. 

"  Forgive  him,"  whispered  he,  softly.  "  He  is  wild  with 
anger  and  pain." 

"  0  Osman,  is  all  known  to  you  ?  "  asked  she,  in  trembling 
tones. 

Osman  bowed  his  head.  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  "Be 
quiet — we  are  watched.  In  the  evening  I  will  send  you  word." 

"  Open  now  the  gates,  and  let  the  prisoners  out,"  said  the 
tschorbadji  to  Mohammed.  "  The  law  has  been  vindicated." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  command,"  said  Mohammed,  with  the 
calmness  sometimes  born  of  despair.  He  drew  forth  the  key, 
and  placed  it  in  the  lock.  Masa  sprang  forward.  The  gate 
opened,  and  now  she  stood  beside  her  father.  She  threw  her 
arms  about  him,  and  kissed  his  lips.  Then  she  bowed  her 
head  upon  his  breast,  and  wept  bitterly.  The  old  man  held 


THE  FLIGHT.  157 

her  close  to  his  heart,  and  then,  lifting  her  up,  hore  her,  trem- 
bling with  emotion,  from  out  the  cage,  in  which  he  had  endured 
such  torture  for  four-and-twenty  hours. 

The  ulemas  followed  him.  Joyfully  the  men  greeted  the 
released  prisoners,  and  prayed  that  they  might  escort  them 
home  in  triumph. 

"I  see  no  cause  for  triumph,"  said  the  sheik,  calmly. 
"  You  have  done  what  I  cannot  approve.  It  were  better,  I 
think,  to  have  laid  my  gray  head  upon  the  block,  rather  than 
you  should  place  upon  it  your  hard-earned  gold,  becoming 
thereby  the  slaves  of  him  who  gave  it  to  you,  and  has  thus 
lowered  you  by  his  gift." 

u  No,  sheik,"  said  Cousrouf  Pacha,  advancing  proudly.  "  He 
who  gave  this  gold  gave  it  not  with  such  intent.  He  gave  it 
not  to  humiliate  these  men.  I  gave  it  for  your  sake,  and  for 
your  daughter's  sake,"  continued  he,  in  loud  tones,  and  for  an 
instant  his  eyes  gleamed  passionately  on  Masa. 

He  well  knew  his  words  would  enter  Mohammed's  heart 
like  a  knife.  Turning  slowly,  he  glanced  at  him,  and  smiled 
at  seeing  him  turn  pale. 

"I  am  now  about  to  leave  you,"  said  the  pacha.  "The 
grand-sultan  calls  me  from  here.  Fear  not,  therefore,  O  sheik, 
that  my  countenance  will  longer  humiliate  you.  I  give  you 
freedom.  Return  to  your  friends  ;  you  are  free  !  " 

"  Long  live  Cousrouf  Pacha  ! "  was  the  exultant  cry  of  the 
men  of  Praousta. 

No  one  heard,  amid  the  many  voices,  the  one  crying  : 
"  Cursed  be  Cousrouf  Pacha  !  Cursed  be  my  enemy  unto 
death  !  I  swear  revenge  upon  him  !  " 

"  Cease,  Mohammed  ;  be  guarded,  be  silent !  Dissem- 
ble your  anger,  your  pain,  O  friend  of  my  heart !  Believe 
me,  all  will  soon  be  changed :  the  sky  that  now  seems 
so  dark,  will  soon  be  clear  with  the  light  of  the  sun  and  of 
love  ! " 

"  No,  never,  Osman,  never,"  murmured  Mohammed,  gaz- 
ing bitterly  at  Masa,  who,  leaning  upon  her  father's  arm,  and 
followed  by  the  ulemas  and  the  jubilant  fishermen,  was  now 
leaving  the  court-yard.  "  Nevermore,  Osman,  nevermore, 
will  the  sun  shine  for  me  !  Night  and  impenetrable  darkness 


158  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND   HIS   HOTTSE. 

envelop  my  fate  !    But  I  swear  to  revenge  myself  upon  those 
who  have  done  me  this  wrong  !  " 

"  Silence,  silence,  Mohammed  ! "  said  Osman,  entreatingly, 
to  his  friend.  "  See,  my  father  approaches,  and  with  him 
Cousrouf  Pacha.  How  triumphant  he  seems  !  He  knows  he 
has  pained  you.  Will  you  permit  him  to  see  and  rejoice  in 
your  pain  ? '' 

"  No,  no,  you  are  right !  He  shall  not  rejoice  in  my  pain  ! 
Bitter  heartache  shall  I  prepare  for  him  some  day  ! "  Laugh- 
ing bitterly  to  himself,  he  advanced  toward  the  two  approach- 
ing him. 

"  Mohammed  Ali,"  said  the  governor,  solemnly,  "  I  thank 
you  for  your  good  services.  You  have  accomplished  that 
which,  by  your  honor,  you  swore  to  fulfil.  And  I  affirm  that 
I  also  have  kept  my  word.  I  allowed  you  to  do  as  you 
thought  best,  and  did  not  restrain  you  when  1  thought  your 
acts  cruel  ;  but  I  must  nevertheless  admit  that  you  have  acted 
with  wisdom  and  with  courage.  Gladly  will  I  reward  you  for 
that  which  you  obtained  through  your  daring.  It  is  tit  that 
such  a  man  should  have  an  office,  and  exercise  the  duties 
thereof  from  now  on.  Mohammed  Ali,  I  have  good  news  to 
impart  to  you  !  The  scenes  of  yesterday  have  taught  me  that, 
to  preserve  peace  and  quiet,  it  is  necessary  to  have  soldiers  at 
hand.  I  have  already  dispatched  a  courier  to  the  neighboring 
town,  and  a  garrison  shall  hereafter  stay  here  or  at  Ca valla. 
You,  Mohammed  Ali,  I  appoint  boulouJc  bashi,  or  captain  of 
this  company  that  is  to  enter  Cavalla  to-morrow." 

A  deep  color  overspread,  like  the  morning  sunlight,  Mo- 
hammed's countenance  : — "  Master,  you  well  know  how  to  re- 
ward generously  him  who  has  done  naught  but  his  duty." 

"And  now,  my  Mohammed,"  whispered  Osman,  softly,  "or 
rather  boulouk  bashi,  let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you. 
How  proud  and  happy  I  shall  be  when  I  see  Mohammed  Ali, 
in  his  glittering  uniform,  marching  at  the  head  of  his  com- 
pany. Proud  and  happy  shall  I  account  myself  when  so 
handsome,  so  brave  a  soldier,  considers  me  worthy  of  his  pro- 
tection ! " 

"  You  make  sport  of  me,"  murmured  Mohammed,  a  soft 
smile  illuminating  his  countenance.  In  the  spirit  he  saw  him- 


THE  FLIGHT.  159 

self  in  his  handsome  uniform  at  the  head  of  his  company. 
Truth  and  justice  are  once  more  acknowledged.  The  hour  of 
humiliation  and  pain  has  gone  by.  The  time  he  had  so  long 
looked  for  had  arrived.  He  listened  calmly  to  the  tschor- 
badji's  announcement  that  on  the  morrow  his  uniform  would 
be  ready,  as  well  as  those  of  his  soldiers,  which  were  to  be  sent 
at  once  to  Ca valla. 

"  There  will  be  a  number  of  uniforms,  and  the  young  bou- 
louk  bashi  can  make  his  choice  from  among  them." 

"And  the  sword,  my  father,  the  sword,  I  will  give  to  my 
friend  Mohammed  Ali  ! "  cried  Osman,  joyously.  "  Do  you 
remember  the  gold-handled  sword  given  me  by  the  grand-viz- 
ier on  his  last  visit  ?  I  have  kept  it  jealously,  though,  alas  !  I 
can  never  wear  it  myself.  And  now  my  friend  shall  wear  it 
in  my  place,  and,  when  I  see  him  pass  by  with  the  glittering 
weapon  at  his  side,  it  will  seem  as  if  I  carried  it  myself  in  de- 
fence of  my  beloved  country.  Come  with  me,  Mohammed," 
said  he,  taking  his  friend's  arm.  "  You  are  in  need  of  rest. 
You  have  been  deeply  moved,  and  now  let  us  retire.  It  is 
quiet  within  my  father's  apartments  ;  there  we  will  betake 
ourselves  and  repose  together.'/' 

"We  will  all  follow  you,"  said  the  governor. — "I  pray 
Cousrouf  Pacha  to  accompany  us.  The  day  is  bright  and 
lovely,  and  I  think  we  all  stand  in  need  of  rest  and  refresh- 
ment. There  we  will  take  our  coffee,  and  at  the  same  time 
something  more  substantial  together,  and,  enveloped  by  the 
smoke  from  our  pipes,  we  will  discuss  the  events  of  this  day, 
which  commenced  so  stormily,  and  now  seems  to  end  so 
pleasantly  to  our  general  joy." 

"  Who  knows,  tschorbadji,  that  it  brings  joy  to  all  ?  "  said 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  sneeringly.  "  I,  of  course,  have  cause  to  re- 
joice and  be  thankful,  this  day.  But  it  strikes  me,  Moham- 
med Ali  is  by  nature  little  inclined  to  be  thankful.  Instead 
of  joyfully  receiving  his  honors,  he  seems  to  gaze  wrathfully 
upon  us  all." 

"  I  think  I  have  cause  to  do  so,"  said  Mohammed,  impetu- 
ously turning  to  him. 

"  And  wherefore  ? "  said  Cousrouf  Pacha.  "  Wherefore  ? 
Speak  on." 


160  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Well,"  said  Mohammed,  u  many,  I  think,  receive  honors 
which  they  have  not  deserved,  and  have  done  naught  to  earn, 
as  if  they  were  to  be  bought,  and  they  knew  how  to  purchase 
them.  I  say  that  honor,  power,  and  consideration,  often 
spring  from  hypocrisy  and  slavish  submission ;  and  that 
through  cunning,  deceit,  and  shame,  many  a  free  human  soul 
becomes  abject  and  lost.  I  hope  I  am  understood  by  Cousrouf 
Pacha  ! " 

"  I  regret  that  I  can  neither  understand  nor  explain  these 
strange  words.  But  you  must  feel,  tschorbadji,  that  I  have  to 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  remaining  longer  with  you  in  the 
company  of  this  wild  young  man,  whose  mind  seems  bewil- 
dered by  the  honors  conferred  on  him.  Enjoy  yourselves  in 
quiet  repose,  and  be  happy  at  your  feast." 

•'  Do  as  it  suits  you,"  cried  Mohammed.  "  I  shall  not  share 
it.  I  am  exhausted,  and  shall  retire  to  rest  and  refresh  myself. 
Farewell ! " 

He  bowed  his  head,  and  carried  his  hand  in  greeting  both 
to  lip  and  brow.  He  then  turned,  and  hastened  rapidly  away. 

The  pacha  followed  him  with  an  evil  glance.  "  The  fro- 
ward  youth  is  forever  in  my  path,"  said  he,  threateningly. 
"  It  was  well  for  him  he  withdrew,  for  it  might  have  come  to 
bitter  enmity  between  us.  Should  he  dare  again  what  he  this 
day  ventured  upon,  his  life  would  no  longer  be  secure.  Being 
a  guest  in  your  house,  and  meeting  him  there,  made  me  con- 
siderate to-day.  But  woe  unto  him  should  he  cross  my  path, 
when  no  such  considerations  restrain  me  !  Bitterly  shall  he 
repent  of  his  words. " 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

THE  MESSENGER. 

JOY  and  merriment  prevailed  throughout  the  day  in  the 
village  of  Praousta  ;  a  continuous  firing  of  guns  was  kept  up, 
which  delighted  the  boys,  and  terrified  the  sick,  and  the  timid 
little  girls.  Joyous  songs  were  sung,  and,  on  the  grand  square 
before  the  mosque,  men  and  women  assembled  for  a  dance. 


THE   MESSENGER 

The  tambourine  rang  out  merrily,  and  cymbals  and  flutes 
filled  tbe  air  with,  sweet  sounds. 

A  sail  on  the  water  was  arranged  for  the  afternoon,  and 
the  boats  were  gayly  decked  with  flags  for  the  occasion. 

In  the  first  large  boat  the  sheik,  the  ulemas,  and  the  lead- 
ing men  of  the  village,  were  reposing  on  carpets.  Two  boats 
containing  the  musicians  followed  ;  and  then  came,  in  four 
gayly-adorned  ones,  the  women  of  the  village,  enveloped  in 
their  white  veils,  and  greeting  the  men  in  the  other  boats  with 
their  bright  eyes  only.  It  was  a  beautiful  spectacle.  The  sea 
itself  seemed  to  rejoice  over  it ;  it  murmured  softly,  and 
curled  its  waves  caressingly  upon  the  beach. 

The  governor,  accompanied  by  his  distinguished  guest, 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  had  come  down  to  Praousta.  Both  were 
saluted  from  the  boats  with  shouts  of  applause  ;  handkerchiefs 
and  caps  were  waved,  and  the  blessing  of  Allah  and  of  the 
prophet  invoked  upon  their  heads.  But  curses  also  resounded 
from  time  to  time  from  their  midst. 

"  These  two  gentlemen  are  kind-hearted.  They  saved  us, 
and  Mohammed  Ali  alone  was  the  cause  of  all  our  trouble  and 
anxiety.  Woe  to  the  traitor  !  He  wished  to  make  himself  a 
name,  to  mount  to  honor  and  power  upon  our  shoulders, 
though  we  should  be  ground  down  in  the  dust.  Woe  to  him  ! 
woe  to  him  !  The  governor  is  kind,  we  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  him.  Mohammed  Ali  alone  is  our  foe — woe  to  him  ! " 

This  was  the  cry  from  one  to  the  other  ;  all  joined  in  it ; 
they  all  raised  their  fists  menacingly  against  Mohammed  Ali. 
"May  he  hear  our  curses,  and  see  our  threatening  hands  ! 
We  will  be  avenged  on  him  for  what  he  has  done  to  us.  He 
shall  be  repaid  for  all  the  evil  he  has  done  to  the  sheik  ;  of 
this  he  can  rest  assured.  We  have  loved  and  been  kind  to 
him  ;  we  have  treated  him  as  if  he  were  our  child  ;  he  is  in- 
debted to  us  for  all  he  is,  and  for  all  he  can  do.  From  us  he 
learned  to  manage  a  boat,  to  use  a  gun — and  thus  has  he  re- 
warded us.  Woe  to  him  ! "  This  cry  resounded  again  and 
again  from  boat  to  boat : 

"Woe  to  him  !  Woe  to  Mohammed  Ali,  the  son  of  Sitta 
Khadra  ! " 

But  he  heard  nothing  of  all  this  ;  neither  the  curses,  nor 


162  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

the  laughter  and  shouts  of  joy.  He  had  gone  to  his  solitary 
resort  on  the  rock  above.  There  he  was  alone,  without  fear 
of  being  observed  by  the  eyes  of  men.  There  no  one  could 
hear  his  wails  of  anguish.  There  he  was  alone  with  wind  and 
waves.  Alas,  how  short  a  time  had  elapsed  since  he  had 
stood  there  in  joy  and  exultation  !  His  soul  had  revelled  in 
all  the  delights  of  the  world,  in  all  the  glories  of  Paradise. 
Only  a  few  hours  had  passed,  and  yet  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  was  entirely  transformed,  that  he  had  became  another  man 
since  then. 

With  what  pious  thoughts,  with  what  ecstasy  had  he,  that 
morning,  greeted  the  rising  sun  !  His  heart  had  been  filled 
with  ineffable  bliss  ;  tears  of  delight  had  stood  in  his  eyes. 
Now  the  evening  is  sinking  down,  the  first  evening  after  that 
blissful  sunrise,  and  vanished  is  all  he  had  gloried  in  ;  lost,  all 
he  believed  he  had  won.  A  white  dove  had  fluttered  down 
from  heaven,  he  had  seen  a  fair  swan  full  of  innocence  and 
loveliness  at  his  side  ;  and  now,  the  white  dove  had  trans- 
formed itself  into  a  monster,  and  the  fair  swan  had  become  an 
evil  spirit.  Yes,  an  evil  spirit  had  assumed  the  form  of  a 
swan,  and  cast  a  wicked  spell  over  his  heart,  and  now — O  Mo- 
hammed, learn  to  suffer  !  Rend  yourself  with  your  agony  ; 
press  your  hands  convulsively  to  your  breast  till  the  blood 
trickles  out  from  your  finger-nails  ;  cry  out  in  your  anguish, 
till  the  eagle,  aroused  in  his  nest,  looks  out  with  greedy  eyes 
after  the  poor  creature  that  has  dared  to  disturb  the  king  of 
the  air  !  Let  curses  resound  from  the  quivering  lips  that  are 
as  pale  as  those  of  the  dead  !  Curse  the  swan  for  having  be- 
come a  ghin  ;  the  white  swan  for  having  transformed  herself 
into  a  cat,  and  then  awake  from  your  despair.  Behold  her 
standing  before  you  with  the  sweet  expression  on  her  delicate 
features,  with  the  blushing  cheeks  as  you  raise  the  veil,  with 
the  crimson  lips  that  grow  more  crimson  still  as  yours  touch 
them.  Behold  her,  in  all  her  loveliness,  and  kneel  down  on 
the  place  where  she  stood,  and  passionately  kiss  the  earth  her 
feet  have  touched.  Bless  her  in  your  love,  and  curse  her  in 
the  anger  of  your  hatred  ! 

First  love  is  passionate  in  its  bliss,  burning  its  agony,  and 
agony  and  bliss,  fury  and  delight,  are  all  pouring  through 


THE   MESSENGER.  163 

your  soul,  and  giving  you  the  baptism  of  pain,  making  of  the 
youth  a  man. 

"  Tear  love  from  my  soul,  and  enable  me  to  tread  it  under 
foot  !  "  he  cries  out  fiercely,  as  he  now  rises  from  the  place  he 
had  just  touched  with  his  lips.  "  Root  out  these  memories 
from  my  breast,  spirit  of  my  mother  !  She  to  whom  I  here 
prayed,  and  swore  fidelity,  has  proved  untrue.  Strike  blind 
the  eyes  of  my  soul,  that  they  may  no  longer  see  this  horror  ! 
Make  deaf  my  ears,  that  I  may  no  longer  hear  the  sweet  voice 
that  sounds  like  heavenly  music  !  What  was  it  she  said,  what 
were  her  words  ? 

" '  I  will  be  thine,  and  love  no  other  but  thee  ! '  she  said. 
4  By  my  mother's  spirit,  I  swear  to  you  that  no  other  man  shall 
lift  this  veil  from  my  face  ;  I  will  be  thine,  alone  ! ' 

"  It  was  music  when  she  said  it.  It  filled  my  heart  with 
heavenly  joyousness.  And  now  it  proves  to  have  been  evil 
spirits  only,  who  had  come  up  from  the  deep  to  deceive  a  poor 
heart  !  Oh,  these  memories,  they  will  follow  me  like  a  black 
shadow  throughout  life.  In  wild  merriment  and  conflict,  I 
shall  be  able  to  hush  them  in  the  noisy  day  ;  but,  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  night,  they  will  come  back  to  charm — no,  to  tear 
my  heart  !  O  Masa,  Masa,  what  have  you  done  !  " 

Overwhelmed  with  his  agony,  he  sank  to  the  ground,  and 
kissed  again  and  again  the  place  where  she  had  stood,  and 
wept  aloud. 

"  Mohammed  ! "  suddenly  exclaimed  a  voice  behind  him. 
"  Mohammed  Ali  !  The  man  who  weeps  has  no  manly  courage, 
and  it  would  be  vain  to  call  on  him  for  assistance  1 '' 

Is  another  evil  spirit  beside  him  ?  What  woman  is  this  who 
suddenly  appears  at  his  side,  closely  shrouded  in  a  black  veil  ? 
Is  it  another  ghin  come  up  from  the  deep  ? 

"  You  are  right,"  murmured  he,  "  no  one  need  longer  hope 
for  assistance  from  me  ;  I  will  give  vengeance  and  destruc- 
tion to  those  who  call  on  me  for  help  ! " 

He  springs  to  his  feet  and  stares  fiercely  at  the  woman. 
"  Away  from  me  !  Allah  is  Allah,  the  only  one  in  heaven, 
and  Mohammed  is  his  prophet.  Away  from  me,  evil  spirit  ! " 

He  exorcises  this  creature  with  the  oath  with  which  evil 
spirits  are  driven  out.  But  it  seems  this  spirit  is  not  to  be  ex- 


MOHAMMED  ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

orcised.  The  veiled  woman  remains  quietly  standing,  regard- 
ing him  sorrowfully. 

''  Mohammed,  there  are  many  who  suffer,  and  yet  do  not 
break  out  into  loud  lamentations.  Many  a  woman  wails  in 
the  silence  of  her  chamber  ;  the  lamentation  of  many  a  young 
girl  resounds,  unheard  and  unheeded,  through  the  harern.  I 
know  a  girl,  Mohammed  Ali,  who  weeps  and  laments,  because 
she  well  knows  that  one  whom  she  looked  upon  and  greeted 
in  the  holy  stillness  of  the  morning  as  though  he  were  her 
lord,  entering  the  harem  for  the  first  time — that  this  one 
wrongfully  accuses  her,  calls  her  faithless  ;  yes,  perhaps  at 
this  very  moment,  appeals  to  Allah  for  vengeance  for  a  crime 
which  she  has  not  committed  ;  for  a  wrong  that  does  not  bur- 
den her  soul ! " 

"  You  know  such  a  girl  ? "  he  cries,  with  loud,  mocking 
laughter.  "You  are  fortunate  in  knowing  her.  I  do  not 
know  such  a  girl ;  I  only  know  that  they  are  all  deceitful  and 
traitorous." 

"  Then  you  assuredly  do  not  know  this  one  !  She  is  as 
pure  as  an  angel,  and  her  name  is  Masa.'' 

"  Masa  ! "  he  exclaims,  in  loud  and  joyous  tones.  Then  his 
countenance  darkens,  and,  raising  his  clinched  fists  threaten- 
ingly, he  cries  :  "  Masa  !  you  deceive  yourself.  Of  all  deceit- 
ful women  she  is  the  worst.  Do  not  say  that  I  deceive  my- 
self with  regard  to  her  ;  I  saw,  with  my  own  eyes,  that  which 
gives  me  death  ;  that  which  will  forever  gnaw  at  my  heart. 
Away  from  me,  and  announce  to  her  who  sent  you  that  no 
woman  shall  ever  deceive  Mohammed  again." 

He  turns  to  descend  from  the  rock,  but  the  woman  holds 
him  fast,  regarding  him  with  an  anxious,  entreating  look. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  kill  my  darling,  the  beloved  child  of  my 
mistress  ?  Listen,  Mohammed  !  On  her  death-bed  the  mother 
confided  to  me  her  only  child.  Grasping  her  cold  hand,  I 
swore  by  Allah  that  I  would  hold  her  as  my  own,  that  I  would 
watch  over  and  guard  her  from  all  evil.  This  morning  I 
found  my  darling  in  an  agony  of  grief.  She  did  not  go  out 
with  the  joyous  crowd,  but  remained  at  home  in  her  own  lit- 
tle room.  I  saw  her  wringing  her  hands,  and  heard  her  en- 
treating Allah  to  take  her  life.  I  entered  her  room  and  said 


THE  MESSENGER.  165 

to  her  :  '  O  Masa,  you  know  that  your  Djumeila  is  true  to  you. 
Confide  in  her.  Tell  me  all  that  grieves  you.  What  is  it  that 
gives  you  pain  ? '  After  I  had  thus  appealed  to  her  for  a  long 
time,  she  arose  from  her  knees,  fell  on  my  neck,  and  whispered 
in  my  ear  a  wondrous  tale  of  the  starry  sky,  of  sunrise,  and 
heavenly  delight,  of  the  bliss  and  pain  of  love.  And  I  swore 
by  Allah  and  the  prophet,  by  the  spirit  of  her  mother,  that  I 
would  never  speak  to  another  a  word  of  what  she  had  told  me  ! 
But,  because  I  love  the  child  of  my  mistress,  the  child  that  is 
to  me  as  my  own,  so  dearly,  I  promised  that  I  would  go  to  the 
man  she  loves  and  tell  him  everything  in  her  name." 

"  Then  go  seek  him  she  loves  !  You  will  find  him  in 
the  governor's  palace  ;  there  he  sits  enthroned  in  the  midst  of 
his  grand  and  brilliant  harem.  She  longs  to  see  the  doors  of 
this  harem  thrown  open  to  her.  Go  to  him  and  tell  what  you 
have  to  say.  You  will  be  welcome." 

"  I  knew  to  whom  I  was  to  go,  and  I  have  already  reached 
my  destination.  The  heart  of  a  woman  who  loves  can  see  the 
absent  like  that  of  a  sorceress.  Masa  said  to  me  :  '  Go  up  the 
rock  to  the  highest  point ;  there  we  vowed  eternal  fidelity  to 
each  other.  I  know  he  will  be  there  !  He  will  seek  to  wipe 
out  the  traces  of  our  morning  communion  with  his  curses, 
perhaps,  too,  with  his  tears.'  Now  I  am  at  the  place  to  which 
Masa  sent  me,  and  here,  too,  is  he  to  whom  she  sent  me. 
Mohammed  Ali,  do  not  turn  from  me,  do  not  shake  your  head. 
Rather  let  us  sit  down,  and  listen  to  what  Djumeila  has  to 
say." 

He  did  not  reply.  He  only  made  a  motion  as  if  to  shake 
off  the  hand  she  had  laid  on  his  arm,  in  order  to  draw  him 
down  to  her  side.  But  now  against  his  will  he  permits  her  to 
draw  him  down  to  a  seat  on  the  stone  beside  her. 

"  Listen,  Mohammed  !  Masa  is  at  home,  locked  in  her 
room.  She  weeps  and  laments,  and  has  sworn  to  me  by  her 
mother's  spirit  that  she  would  die  to-night.  The  waves  are  to 
close  over  h  >r  if  Mohammed  does  not  rescue  her  from  disgrace 
and  misery.  Listen,  Mohammed,  and  take  what  I  say  to 
heart.  Will  you  do  so,  Mohammed  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  I  will ! "  said  he,  after  a  short  pause.  "  May 
Allah  judge  you  if  you  are  about  to  deceive  me  again  ! " 


166  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Then  incline  your  ear  closer  to  me,  that  the  ghins  may 
not  hear  what  I  say  and  carry  it  further.  What  Masa  con- 
fided to  me  is  intended  for  you  only." 

He  inclines  his  head  close  to  hers.  For  a  long  time  she 
whispers  and  speaks  to  him  in  impressive  tones  ;  and  he  lis- 
tens —  at  first  against  his  will,  but  gradually  a  new  life 
courses  through  his  being,  a  delicate  color  suffuses  itself  over 
his  pale  cheeks,  and  his  brow  quivers  with  emotions  of 
mingled  joy  and  pain. 

The  woman  continues  to  speak  in  low,  earnest  tones. 

When  she  has  finished,  Mohammed  bounds  to  his  feet. 
Suddenly  he  is  completely  changed.  His  eyes  sparkle,  his  lips 
smile  and  part  to  give  utterance  to  a  cry,  to  a  loud,  piercing, 
joyous  cry,  such  as  the  eagle  utters  when  he  returns  after  a 
long  journey  and  sees  his  young  looking  up  and  opening  their 
beaks  to  greet  him.  He  felt  that  he  must  cry  out  to  relieve 
his  breast.  He  extends  his  arms  into  the  air,  as  though  he  saw 
before  him  the  white  dove,  and  wished  to  clasp  it  to  his  heart  ; 
as  though  he  saw  on  the  murmuring  sea  at  his  feet  the  swan 
approaching,  singing  to  him  the  song  of  holy  virgin  purity 
and  of  chaste  maidenly  love. 

4tO  how  beautiful  is  the  world  !"  he  exclaims,  exultingly. 
"  How  heavenly  to  live  in  it !  But  then  this  is  not  earthly  de- 
light, but  the  bliss  of  Paradise.  I  shall  enter  Paradise  to-day, 
and  be  one  of  the  blessed  ;  I  shall  revel  in  heavenly  joys  al- 
ready here  on  earth  as  man  never  did  before.  Come,  Dju- 
meila,  and  listen  to  my  words.  Come  to  this  spot.  See,  here 
she  stood  this  morning  ;  here  she  exchanged  with  me  vows  of 
eternal  fidelity,  and  this  holy  place  I  have  consecrated  with 
my  tears  and  my  despair.  I  was  a  fool ;  oh,  forgive,  Masa, 
forgive  me,  and  I  will  repay  you  with  life-long  devotion.  So 
long  as  a  drop  of  blood  flows  in  my  veins  will  I  love  you  and 
belong  to  you  alone.  Come,  seat  yourself  beside  me,  Djumeila, 
and  listen  attentively  to  each  word  I  shall  speak  to  you." 


VANISHED.  167 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

VANISHED. 

THE  inhabitants  of  Praousta  had  insisted  on  making  the 
release  of  the  sheik  and  the  ulemas  the  occasion  of  general  re- 
joicing, and  the  latter  were  compelled  to  yield  to  the  general 
desire  and  take  part  in  the  festivities. 

But  it  is  well  that  evening  is  now  come,  and  that  the  night 
is  spreading  her  rest-bringing  mantle  over  the  earth.  It  is 
well  that  the  opportunity  has  at  last  come  to  breathe  freely  in 
the  stillness  of  one's  chamber,  and  to  thank  Allah,  with 
earnest  prayer,  for  having  given  them  a  happy  issue  out  of 
the  cares  and  dangers  of  the  preceding  day. 

The  sheik  has  finished  his  prayer  in  the  silence  of  his 
chamber.  He  now  lightly  ascends  the  stairway  to  the  harem 
where  his  beloved  child,  his  Masa,  sojourns.  Before  the  door 
of  her  chamber  sits  Djumeila,  the  faithful  servant,  and  with 
upraised  hand  she  motions  to  the  sheik  to  step  softly  and 
make  no  noise,  that  Masa  may  not  be  disturbed. 

"  You  know,  master,  that  she  has  been  complaining  the 
whole  day.  Anxiety  and  care  for  you,  and  the  pain  and  ex- 
posure she  has  endured,  have  made  my  dove  ill,  and  she  has 
gone  to  her  room  to  rest  and  restore  her  strength.  She  there- 
fore requests  you,  through  me,  to  allow  her  to  remain  undis- 
turbed until  to-morrow  morning.  She  has  not  been  able  to 
sleep  at  all  during  the  day,  and  has  continually  wept  and  com- 
plained ;  but  at  last  toward  evening  she  partook  of  some  food 
and  fell  asleep.  Yesterday  she  was  so  courageous  and  strong, 
but  to-day  she  has  been  weak  and  dejected.  Before  going  to 
sleep  she  called  me  to  her  bedside  and  told  me  to  bear  her 
greeting  to  her  father  ;  and  to  say  to  him  that  she  hoped  to  be 
entirely  recovered  by  to-morrow  morning,  and  would  come 
down  to  breakfast  to  hand  you,  my  master,  your  coffee  and 
chibouque." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  sheik,  softly.  "  Let  my  child  rest,  let 
my  Masa  sleep  ;  tread  lightly,  and  be  careful  that  you  do  not 
disturb  her.  I,  too,  feel  that  I  need  sleep.  Let  the  whole 


168  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

house  repose,  and  avoid  making  any  noise  before  to-morrow 
morning.  Then  I  will  come  to  her  room  to  see  her." 

The  old  man  took  off  his  shoes  and  noiselessly  descended 
the  stairway  to  his  bed-chamber.  It  was  now  still  in  the 
house.  All  Praousta  was  silent.  The  people  were  resting 
from  the  pleasures  of  to-day,  and  the  anxiety  and  care  of  yes- 
terday. 

In  Cavalla,  also,  all  was  now  quiet.  The  windows  of  the 
tschorbadji's  palace  were  dark,  and  silence  prevailed  every- 
where. The  governor  and  his  son  Osman  had  retired  to 
rest. 

In  the  apartments  occupied  by  Cousrouf  Pacha  darkness 
also  prevails,  and  in  the  harem  the  blinds  have  been  let  down 
behind  the  latticed  windows.  One  room  alone  is  dimly  light- 
ed. On  the  table  stands  a  silver  lamp,  which  sheds  a  faint 
light  through  the  spacious  room,  upon  the  gold-embroidered 
caftan  of  the  pacha,  and  upon  his  proud,  gloomy  countenance. 
He  rises  from  his  seat,  and  walks  hastily  through  the  room. 
He  then  suddenly  stands  still.  The  pacha  waits  the  arrival 
of  the  girl  he  has  purchased  with  the  blood-money  given  for 
her  father. 

All  is  quiet  in  the  tschorbadji's  palace,  and  also  in  the 
sheik's  house.  The  windows  are  dark — the  gate  is  locked. 
Now  she  will  come  :  she  has  given  her  word  ;  she  has  sworn 
by  Allah  ;  she  has  sworn  by  the  spirit  of  her  mother  ;  she  has 
sworn  by  all  she  holds  sacred.  She  will  come — for  the  daugh- 
ter of  Alepp  knows  that  one  who  breaks  a  treble  oath  is 
doomed  to  inevitable  destruction,  and  walks  a  welcome  prey 
to  the  evil  spirits,  to  the  ghins.  Surely,  she  will  not  dare  to 
do  this  !  She  will  come — she  must  come. 

Something  rustles  in  the  garden.  The  pacha  steps  hastily 
to  the  window,  throws  it  open,  and  looks  out  eagerly  into  the 
darkness.  It  is  well  that  the  moon  is  at  this  moment  con- 
cealed by  clouds  ;  he  might  otherwise  now  see  her  coming  up 
the  walk  from  the  end  of  the  avenue.  No,  nothing  ap- 
proaches. It  is  not  the  beautiful  virgin,  with  the  eyes  of  the 
gazelle,  with  the  light,  airy  step.  How  beautiful  she  is,  how 
fair,  how  lovely  !  Is  she  not  yet  coming  ?  Does  he  not  hear 
approaching  footsteps  ?  No,  neither  of  the  eunuchs  is  stealth- 


VANISHED.  169 

ily  approaching  to  announce  to  his  mighty  master  that  the 
virgin  has  entered  the  harem. 

He  stands  and  waits,  his  face  quivering  with  anger  and  im- 
patience. He  is  angry  with  the  girl  for  daring  to  come  so 
late.  But  come  she  will,  and  come  she  must ;  for  whoever 
breaks  the  treble  oath  is  lost  before  Allah  and  the  prophet. 
He  remains  at  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  quiet  garden 
and  dark  night  for  a  long  time.  The  wind  extinguishes  the 
lamp  that  stands  on  the  table.  Now  all  is  profound  darkness. 
It  is  dark  in  the  garden,  and  in  the  room.  It  is  dark,  too,  in 
Cousrouf  Pacha's  breast. 

"  Woe  to  her,  if  she  dares  to  break  her  oath  !  In  that  case, 
I  will  go,  with  my  servants,  in  the  broad  light  of  day,  to-mor- 
row, to  the  sheik's  house,  and  demand  my  property— my  slave. 
Mine  is  she,  for  I  purchased  her  with  money  which  she  accept- 
ed. Then,  however,  she  shall  not  be  my  queen,  but  my  slave 
— my  servant.  Come  she  shall,  by  Allah  !  I  must  possess  her, 
for  I  love  her  with  all  the  passion  of  my  heart." 

He  bends  forward,  and  listens  attentively  again.  He 
hardly  dares  to  breathe,  and  his  heart  throbs  loudly  as  he 
anxiously  gazes  out  into  the  garden.  He  does  not  notice  that 
the  hours  are  rapidly  passing ;  to  him  it  seems  an  eternity  of 
waiting. 

Without,  at  the  garden-gate,  the  two  watchful  eunuchs  are 
still  standing.  They,  like  their  master,  have  been  looking  out 
into  the  darkness,  and  listening  throughout  the  entire  night. 

"  No  sign  of  her  yet,"  said  one  of  the  eunuchs  to  the  other. 
"  Woe  to  the  girl  if  she  dares  to  deceive  our  mighty  master  ! 
She  thinks,  perhaps,  he  will  abandon  his  claim.  There  will 
be  a  nice  piece  of  work  to  be  done  to-morrow.  Cousrouf  Pa- 
cha, our  mighty  master,  is  not  in  the  habit  of  being  trifled 
with.  He  will  send  us  down  after  his  property,  and  there 
will  be  no  lack  of  bloody  heads  in  Praousta  to-morrow  ;  for 
we  shall  certainly  have  to  regain  possession  of  this  slave.  He 
says  she  accepted  the  purchase-money,  and  she  therefore  be- 
longs to  the  master  who  bought  her.  Will  she  come,  or  shall 
we  have  to  get  possession  of  her  by  force  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  hope  she  will  come  of  her  own  accord,"  said  the  other. 
"  These  fishermen  are  so  brave,  and  have  such  hard  fists." 
12 


170  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  And  I  hope  she  will  not,"  said  the  first,  laughing.  "  We 
must  take  her  by  force.  I  should  relish  just  such  a  row.  If 
they  have  hard  fists,  we  have  sharp,  glittering  weapons.  And 
then,  as  you  know,  the  soldiers  are  coming  to  take  up  their 
quarters  here  to-morrow  ;  the  tschorbadji  will  send  a  part  of 
them  to  help  us  when  the  company  arrives." 

The  pacha  is  still  standing  at  the  window,  looking  out  into 
the  night.  He  raises  his  hands  threateningly,  and  his  eyes 
glitter  like  those  of  the  panther,  lying  in  wait  for  his  prey. 

u  Woe  to  her  if  she  breaks  the  triple  oath  !  Cousrouf  Pa- 
cha will  know  how  to  avenge  himself.  She  must  become 
mine — she  is  mine  already.  I  have  bought  this  slave,  and,  by 
Allah,  what  I  have  bought  I  will  also  possess  ! " 

At  last,  day  dawns.  The  sun  sends  out  into  the  heavens  its 
purple  heralds,  and  it  begins  to  grow  lighter  in  the  garden. 
The  pacha  now  sees  a  figure,  coming  up  the  walk.  It  is  one 
of  the  eunuchs.  He  goes  noiselessly  into  the  house,  to  his 
master. 

"  Has  she  come  ? "  asks  he,  with  quivering  lips. 

"  No,  master,  she  has  not  come.  The  path  that  leads  up 
from  the  village  is  still  empty.  Shall  we  wait  longer,  mas- 
ter?" 

"  No,"  he  gruffly  replies.  "  Lock  the  gate  and  retire  to  the 
harem.  It  must  be  a  misunderstanding ;  she  supposed  I 
meant  the  following  evening.  Go  ! " 

The  eunuch  prostrates  himself  to  the  earth,  and  takes  his 
departure,  gliding  stealthily  out  into  the  garden.  When  he 
feels  assured  that  no  one  can  see  or  hear  him,  he  stands  still, 
and  laughs  mockingly  :  "  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  see  a  grand 
gentleman  now  and  then  humiliated  like  the  rest  of  us.  He 
was  terribly  annoyed  ;  I  could  tell  it  by  his  voice.  Serves  him 
right !  I  am  delighted  to  see  that  grand  gentlemen  have  to 
put  up  with  disagreeable  things  sometimes,  too — truly  de- 
lighted." 

With  a  sorrowful  expression  of  countenance  he  now  walks 
on  down  to  the  garden-gate,  where  the  other  eunuch  is  wait- 
ing, and  tells  him  his  gracious  master  has  made  his  reckoning 
without  his  host,  and  that  his  purchased  slave's  failure  to  come 
has  grieved  him  deeply. 


VANISHED.  171 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  dawning  light  showed 
that  they  nodded  triumphantly,  with  a  malicious,  mocking 
grin.  They  understood  each  other  well,  without  telling  in 
words  what  they  were  laughing  about  and  rejoicing  over. 

The  morning  had  come  in  its  full  splendor,  and  the  town 
and  village  had  again  awakened  to  life  and  activity.  The 
sheik,  too,  had  arisen  ;  had  already  turned  to  the  east,  and 
finished  his  prayers,  and  repaired  to  his  daughter's  room. 
She  had  told  him,  through  her  servant,  the  evening  before, 
that  she  would  come  to  him  early  in  the  morning,  to  hand  him 
his  coffee  and  chibouque.  But  Masa  did  not  come,  and  the 
father's  heart  is  filled  with  an  inexplicable  feeling  of  anxiety. 
He  hastily  ascends  the  stairway.  Djumeila  no  longer  watches 
before  the  door  ;  she  has  gone,  and  is  perhaps  busied  with  her 
morning  occupations. 

The  sheik  opens  the  door  of  his  daughter's  sitting-room. 

"  Masa,"  he  cries,  "  it  is  time  to  come  down  to  breakfast." 
He  supposes  she  is  within,  in  her  bedchamber,  and  has  not 
heard  him.  "  Masa,"  he  cries  again,  "  come  out,  my  child,  come 
to  your  father." 

All  is  still  as  before.  He  calls  for  the  third  time  ;  no  one 
replies 

"  Masa,  where  are  you,  my  child  ? "  The  sheik  anxiously 
walks  through  the  sitting-room  to  the  little  chamber  where 
his  daughter's  bed  stands  :  no  one  there  either.  "  Masa,  my 
child,  my  darling,  where  are  you  ? " 

He  stands  still,  listening  for  an  answer  ;  he  breathes  heavily 
when  as  yet  no  answer  comes,  but  consoles  himself  with  the 
thought  that  she  has  already  gone  down,  and  is  awaiting  him 
below,  while  he  is  seeking  her  in  her  rooms  above. 

Hastily,  with  the  quick  step  of  youth,  the  sheik  descends 
the  stairway  again  ;  but  Masa  was  not  there.  The  father's 
calls  grow  louder  arid  more  anxious. 

"  Masa,  where  are  you  ?  My  beloved  child,  come  to  your 
father." 

All  remains  still.  No  answer  comes  to  the  father's  anxious 
calls. 

The  sheik  now  hurries  to  the  kitchen,  where  breakfast  is 
being  prepared  ;  Djumeila  is  standing  there  at  the  hearth,  per- 


172  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

f ectly  composed,  attending  to  her  cooking.     She  salutes  her 
master  with  a  deferential  air. 

"  Where  is  Masa,  my  daughter  ? "  cries  the  sheik. 

"  I  do  not  know,  master,"  she  quietly  replies  ;  "  I  have  not 
yet  seen  her  to-day.  Early  in  the  morning,  before  sunrise,  I 
went  out  to  the  meadow  to  milk  the  goats,  that  my  child,  my 
darling  Masa,  might  have  fresh  sweet  milk  for  her  breakfast  ; 
since  then  I  have  been  occupied  with  getting  breakfast  ready, 
and  now  you  ask  me  '  Where  is  Masa  ? '  " 

"  Spare  your  words  and  listen  :  Masa  has  vanished  ;  Masa 
is  not  in  her  room." 

Djumeila  cries  out  loudly  :  "  Where  is  Masa  ?  where  is  my 
white  dove  ? " 

She  rushes  out  and  runs  to  her  mistress's  room  ;  and,  not 
finding  her  there,  falls  to  weeping  and  wringing  her  hands  in 
despair. 

"  Where  is  my  beloved  child  ?  she  is  not  with  her  father,  • 
she  is  not  in  her  room."     She  then  hastens  to  the  other  maid- 
servant.    "  Where  is  Masa  ?  has  no  one  seen  my  master's 
daughter  ?  has  no  one  seen  my  beloved  child  ? " 

The  sheik  stood  in  the  hall  and  listened  to  Djumeila's  cries 
and  the  answer  of  the  other  servant.  He  then  walked  rapidly 
all  over  the  house  again,  called  his  daughter's  name  loudly 
once  more,  and  stood  still  to  listen  for  an  answer. 

"  But  it  is  foolish  to  be  so  anxious.  Masa  is  fond  of  going 
out  to  the  sea  to  listen  to  the  murmuring  and  whispering  of 
the  waves.  My  child  is  pious,  and  may  have  gone  to  the 
mosque  to  pray  and  to  thank  Allah.  That  is  it — she  has  gone 
to  the  mosque." 

The  sheik  rushes  out  into  the  street.  It  is  well  that  the 
mosque  is  not  far  from  his  dwelling.  The  doors  are  open  ; 
Masa  is  surely  there,  probably  on  her  knees  in  one  of  the  re- 
cesses, addressing  herself  to  her  prayers.  'No,  she  is  not  there  ; 
the  recesses  are  empty,  and  she  is  not  up  in  the  choir  with  the 
women  either. 

"  She  is  nowhere  in  the  mosque  ;  but  she  may  be  down  on 
the  beach." 

The  sheik  no  longer  felt  the  weight  of  his  years,  he  no 
longer  felt  exhausted  by  the  fatigues  of  the  preceding  day. 


VANISHED.  173 

He  is  young  again,  and  his  blood  is  coursing  through,  his 
veins.  With  head  erect  and  firm,  footstep  he  walks  down  to 
the  beach. 

"  Masa,  my  child,  come  to  me  ;  hasten  to  your  father's 
arms  !  "  he  cries,  so  loudly  that  his  voice  drowns  the  noise  of 
the  rushing  waves.  But  no  one  replies.  Masa  is  not  there. 

A  wild  cry  of  terror  resounds  from  his  lips,  he  sinks  down 
upon  the  shore  exhausted,  and  stares  out  at  the  waves  as 
though  he  would  ask,  "  Have  you  seen  my  child  ;  has  she  gone 
to  you  ;  has  she  sought  a  resting-place  in  your  cold  bosom  ? " 
Yet  why  should  she  do  so  ?  Masa  is  happy  and  loves  her 
father,  why  does  she  then  torment  him  thus  ?  Masa  must 
have  gone  to  some  of  her  neighbors.  She  has  many  friends  ; 
every  woman  and  girl  that  Masa  knows  loves  her  011  account 
of  her  happy  disposition,  her  innocence,  and  her  loveliness. 
She  will  have  returned  home  long  since.  Djumeila  cannot 
know  that  her  master  has  gone  out,  or  she  would  have  called 
him. 

"  Masa  is  surely  at  home  !  " 

The  old  man  returns  to  his  dwelling  with  the  quick  step  of 
a  youth.  Djumeila  is  standing  in  the  door- way,  weeping  and 
lamenting  loudly  : 

"  Master,  my  child,  my  Masa,  is  gone  !  Allah  be  merciful, 
and  take  me  from  this  earth,  now  that  my  Masa  is  no  longer 
here  ! " 

The  sheik  says  not  a  word.  He  neither  speaks  nor  weeps, 
but  only  beckons  to  the  men  who  have  been  drawn  to  the  spot 
by  Djumeila's  loud  lamentations.  When  they  have  come  near, 
he  bends  down  close  to  them,  as  if  to  prevent  even  the  wind 
from  hearing  him,  and  whispers  in  their  ears  :  "My  child  is 
gone.  Masa  is  not  in  the  mosque.  Masa  is  not  on  the  beach, 
and  is  not  with  the  neighbors  !  " 

The  men  regarded  him  with  dismay  ;  and,  supposing  they 
must  have  misunderstood  his  words,  ask  each  other,  "  What 
did  the  sheik  say  ?  " 

He  then  shrieks,  as  if  to  make  himself  heard  by  the  heavens 
and  the  earth,  by  the  mountains  and  the  sea  :  "  My  child  is 
gone  !  Masa  is  not  in  her  father's  house,  Masa  is  not  at  the 
mosque,  and  not  on  the  beach  !  Where  is  my  child  ? " 


174  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

He  then  swoons  away.  Djumcila  now  rushes  down  the 
street,  and  her  cries  of  anguish  resound  through  all  Praousta. 

"  Masa,  the  sheik's  daughter,  has  disappeared  !  Where  is 
Masa  ?  Up,  ye  men  and  women,  let  us  search  for  her.  Let 
us  search  everywhere — among  the  rocks  and  cliffs,  in  the  hills 
and  in  the  valleys.  Masa,  the  sheik's  daughter,  is  gone  ! " 

From  every  house,  men,  women,  and  children,  rush  out 
and  gaze  at  each  other  in  sorrow  and  dismay.  "  Masa,  our 
sheik's  daughter,  has  vanished  !  let  us  search  for  her."  And 
now  they  begin  the  search.  People  are  to  be  seen  running 
in  every  direction — to  the  rocks  above,  down  to  the  shore. 
The  air  everywhere  resounds  with  their  loud  cries  : 

"  Masa,  daughter  of  the  sheik,  where  are  you  ? " 

Suddenly  the  music  of  the  trumpet,  cymbal  and  fife,  and 
the  roll  of  the  drum,  breaks  in  upon  and  mingles  with  these 
tumultuous  cries.  With  warlike  music  the  company  of  sol- 
diers from  the  nearest  city  marches  into  Praousta,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  command  given  by  the  governor  to  his  cap- 
tain. 

The  men  have  been  on  the  march  all  night,  and  now 
enter  the  village  in  the  broad  light  of  day,  with  their  band 
playing. 

The  military  music  rings  out  so  loud  and  clear  that  the 
cries  of  lamentation  are  no  longer  heard.  The  crowd  stand 
still  and  gaze  at  the  gaudily-attired  men  who  are  marching 
into  Cavalla.  The  tschorbadji  is  standing  with  his  distin- 
guished guest,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  in  the  court-yard  of  the  pal- 
ace. He  has  requested  him  to  be  present  at  the  reception  of 
the  soldiers.  The  pacha's  countenance  and  bearing  are  un- 
changed— all  haughtiness  and  dignity — only  his  cheeks  are 
paler  and  his  glance  more  threatening  than  usual.  As  he 
now  turns  toward  the  gate  of  the  court-yard,  Mohammed  Ali, 
the  boulouk  bashi,  appears  for  the  first  time,  attired  in  his 
handsome,  glittering  uniform,  advancing  with  his  company 
toward  the  palace.  On  the  governor's  left  stands  his  son  Os- 
man,  who  has  risen  from  his  couch,  overcoming  for  the  mo- 
ment his  weakness  and  ill-health  in  order  to  participate  in  the 
triumph  of  witnessing  Mohammed  Ali  lead  his  company,  as 
boulouk  bashi,  for  the  first  time. 


VANISHED.  175 

Yes,  there  comes  Mohammed  All,  marching  at  the  head  of 
his  company,  to  the  sound  of  the  martial  music.  He  holds 
his  sword  uplifted  in  his  right  hand,  and  salutes  the  governor 
as  he  approaches  by  lowering  its  point  to  the  ground  with  a 
deferential  glance.  He  recognizes  his  friend,  and  Osmau 
joyously  returns  the  greeting.  Mohammed  seems  to  him  en- 
tirely changed  at  this  moment,  his  figure  taller  and  more 
powerful.  His  countenance  is  manly  and  joyous,  his  eyes 
sparkle  with  a  mysterious  fire,  a  smile  plays  about  his  lips, 
and  his  whole  bearing  is  firm  and  commanding. 

It  is  not  Osman  alone  who  sees  this  change.  Cousrouf 
Pacha  has  also  observed  it.  His  countenance  darkens.  He 
compresses  his  lips  as  if  to  repress  a  curse  that  is  struggling 
for  utterance.  Yet  he  retains  his  air  of  indifference  and  grave 
countenance,  though  his  cheeks  grow  a  shade  paler,  and  his 
brow  somewhat  darker. 

The  band  plays  a  lively  air.  Mohammed  conducts  his  sol- 
diers before  the  eyes  of  the  governor  and  his  guest  through  a 
series  of  movements  and  evolutions  which  he  has  long  since 
practiced  in  secret.  As  they  now  advance  toward  him,  "  Right 
about,  halt ! "  resounds  Mohammed's  word  of  command  ;  and 
his  soldiers  stand  there  like  a. wall. 

"  Well  done,"  said  Cousrouf  Pacha,  with  a  gracious  incli- 
nation of  the  head.  He  then  added  in  a  loud  voice,  in  order 
that  Mohammed  should  hear  him  :  "  You  see,  governor,  street 
boys  can  watch  soldiers  exercising  to  some  purpose.  Moham- 
med has  not  stared  at  them  on  the  street  in  vain." 

He  turns  and  leaves  the  court-yard,  repairs  to  his  private 
apartments,  and  calls  the  two  eunuchs  who  had  held  the  fruit- 
less watch  at  the  gate  the  previous  night. 

"  When  the  soldiers  have  left  the  court-yard,  twelve  of  their 
number  will  be  placed  at  your  disposal.  Let  them  load  their 
muskets  and  unsheath  their  swords.  Then  go  to  Praousta,  to 
the  sheik's  house,  and  demand  the  restoration  of  my  slave. 
Demand  it  in  my  name.  If  her  father  refuses,  search  the 
house  and  every  place  connected  with  it.  Break  open  the 
doors  if  he  refuses  to  unlock  them.  If  you  do  not  find  her 
there,  search  the  other  houses  of  the  village.  I  must  have 
her  !  If  you  do  not  find  her  to-day,  then  find  her  to-morrow 


176  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

or  the  next  day.  I  will  allow  you  a  week's  time  in  which  to 
get  possession  of  this  runaway  slave.  If  you  do  not  return 
her,  your  heads  shall  fall !  Remember  that !  Stop,  one  thing 
more  :  observe  and  watch  the  new  boulouk  bashi.  Select 
some  of  my  servants  to  follow  him  day  and  night,  and  to  ob- 
serve every  thing  he  does,  yet  without  letting  him  become 
aware  of  it,  for  he  is  a  shrewd  lad  and  a  daring  one,  too. 
Now,  you  can  go." 

While  the  company  is  still  standing  drawn  up  in  the  court- 
yard, the  tschorbadji  beckons  Mohammed  Ali  to  his  side,  and 
enters  the  palace  with  him. 

"  Mohammed,  it  is  evident  that  you  will  become  a  brave 
and  efficient  soldier.  You  have  courage  ;  now  learn  to  con- 
trol your  anger,  to  govern  yourself,  and  then  you  will  know 
how  to  command  others.  See,  this  purse  filled  with  gold-pieces 
is  the  captain's  salary  for  three  months,  which  I  pay  in  ad- 
vance, as  the  young  boulouk  bashi  will  have  to  incur  some 
necessary  expenses,  and  will  therefore  be  glad  to  accept  a  pay- 
ment in  advance." 

Mohammed  thanked  the  governor,  and  received  the  first 
salary  of  his  new  dignity  with  perfect  composure,  though  a 
sudden  sparkling  in  his  eyes  indicated  how  much  he  rejoiced 
over  it. 

Osman,  however,  can  read  his  friend's  countenance  well. 
As  the  governor  turns  away,  Osman  throws  his  arms  around 
Mohammed's  neck  and  whispers  in  his  ear  :  "  You  stand  there 
radiant  like  a  hero,  and  all  the  bliss  of  the  world  and  of  love, 
too,  is  reflected  in  your  countenance.  O  Mohammed,  father 
says  you  should  learn  to  control  yourself,  and  I  am  satisfied 
you  can.  When  my  friend  is  harassed  with  sorrow  and  care 
his  countenance  bears  no  evidence  of  it,  but  happiness  is  not 
to  be  repressed  and  driven  back  to  the  heart  in  this  way.  It 
illumines  the  face  of  man  like  the  sun.  But  I  warn  you,  Mo- 
hammed, it  is  sometimes  dangerous  to  let  one's  countenance 
shine  so.  It  easily  awakens  suspicion  in  the  breast  of  an 
enemy,  and  he  meditates  revenge.  Beware  !  Beware  ! " 

Mohammed  regards  his  friend  as  though  he  did  not  under- 
stand him. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Osman  ? " 


WHERE  IS  SHE? 

"Nothing,  nothing  at  all,  Mohammed,  except  that  it  is 
sometimes  dangerous  to  allow  one's  happiness  to  be  observed. 
Bear  this  in  mind,  my  friend,  and  draw  a  veil  over  your  radi- 
ant countenance." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHERE  IS  SHE  ? 

IN  Praousta,  all  was  again  uproar  and  confusion.  Eight 
eunuchs  of  the  mighty  pacha,  Cousrouf,  accompanied  by  a 
detachment  of  twelve  soldiers,  came  down  from  Cavalla  at 
noon.  They  went  directly  to  the  house  of  the  sheik,  and  de- 
manded to  see  him. 

Djumeila,  her  eyes  red  with  weeping,  came  to  the  door  and 
told  them  her  master  was  ill  with  grief  and  anxiety  on  ac- 
count of  the  disappearance  of  his  daughter. 

The  eunuchs  pushed  her  aside,  and  penetrated,  in  spite  of 
her  cries  and  attempts  to  bar  their  passage,  into  the  room 
where  the  sheik  lay  on  his  divan,  with  pallid  face  and  staring 
gaze.  His  lamentations  were  heartrending.  His  quivering 
lips  continually  cried  :  "  Where  is  my  daughter,  where  is  my 
child?" 

They  roughly  forced  him  to  his  feet,  and  with  savage 
threats  demanded  of  the  old  man  that  he  should  deliver  over 
to  them  their  master's  slave,  his  daughter  Masa.  Aroused 
from  his  torpor,  he  stares  at  them  in  amazement : 

"  Slave  ! "  cried  he.  "  And  you  call  her  Masa,  and  my 
daughter  ;  and  you  say  it  is  she  ?  Who  calls  Masa,  daughter 
of  the  sheik,  his  slave  ? " 

"Our  master  does,"  said  they— "our  master,  Cousrouf 
Pacha." 

"  How  can  the  stranger  dare  to  call  the  daughter  of  a  free 
man,  a  free  girl,  his  slave  ? " 

"He  dares  do  it  because  it  is  so,"  replied  the  eunuchs, 
shrugging  their  shoulders  ;  "  Masa  sold  herself  to  his  excel- 
lency, our  gracious  master,  to  Cousrouf  Pacha,  when  she 
procured  your  release  by  paying  the  second  tax.  You  thought 


178  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

it  was  done  out  of  kindness.  No,  Masa  sold  herself  to  our 
gracious  master,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  for  one  hundred  gold  se- 
quins." 

"  That  is  false  ;  you  lie,  you  wretches  !  You  lie  in  all  you 
say  !  You  lie  !  "  cried  the  sheik.  He  now  stood  erect,  regard- 
ing them  threateningly.  "  Do  not  dare  to  speak  to  me  thus 
again  !  Justice  and  law  still  live  !  No  one  can  say  that  Masa, 
my  daughter,  is  a  slave  ;  and  may  he  who  says  it  stand  accursed 
hefore  Allah  and  the  prophets  !  " 

The  two  eunuchs  threw  themselves  upon  him  and  held  him 
fast.  They  then  called  two  of  the  soldiers  to  their  assistance, 
and  bound  him  hand  and  foot.  This  done,  they  threw  the  old 
man  contemptuously  down  upon  his  divan,  and  proceeded  to 
ransack  every  part  of  the  house  in  search  of  Masa,  their  mas- 
ter's runaway  slave. 

There  lay  the  sheik,  bound  and  helpless,  groaning  and  la- 
menting :  ''  I  am  mad  !  I  hear  that  which  is  not.  I  hear 
voices  say  that  which  cannot  be.  No,  I  am  mad  !  It  is  im- 
possible that  Masa,  the  daughter  of  the  Sheik  of  Praousta,  is 
the  slave  of  the  stranger  Turk  !  Impossible  that  I  can  have 
heard  such  a  thing  !  Death  or  even  madness  is  approaching 
me.  It  creeps  stealthily  toward  me  and  stares  at  me  wildly. 
O  Masa,  my  daughter,  come  save  your  father  !  " 

About  him  all  was  still,  but  in  the  rooms  above  was  an  up- 
roar. He  heard  the  heavy  footsteps  in  the  upper  apartments, 
into  which,  until  now,  no  man  save  the  father  had  ever  en- 
tered. They  are  going  from  room  to  room,  throwing  the 
daughter's  things  about,  ransacking  her  bedchamber,  over- 
throwing furniture,  and  looking  under  carpets  and  mattresses, 
searching  everywhere  for  the  only  daughter  of  the  poor  sheik. 
Then  they  go  to  the  yard,  to  the  stables.  Masa  is  sought 
everywhere.  But,  Allah  be  praised,  she  cannot  be  found  ! 

Without,  before  the  door,  stand  the  men  and  women  of  the 
village  in  a  wide  circle,  gazing  with  dismay  upon  the  eunuchs 
and  the  twelve  soldiers,  who  now  come  out  of  the  door,  fall  in 
line  before  the  house,  and  demand  of  the  people  to  tell  them 
where  Masa,  the  sheik's  daughter,  is. 

"  We  know  not.  We  have  not  seen  her.  How  can  we  tell 
you  what  has  become  of  Masa,  the  sheik's  only  daughter  ? 


WHERE   IS  SHE?  ]  79 

She -was  as  pure  and  good  as  ever  girl  was.     No  one  looked  at 
her.     Who  can  tell  where  she  is  ? " 

"  This  is  all  pretence.  Enough  !  we  will  go  from  house  to 
house  and  search  for  Masa  !  " 

With  cries  of  rage  the  men  attempt  to  oppose  them,  but 
the  strange  soldiers  who  have  just  arrived  know  no  pity. 
They  use  their  swords  vigorously  upon  those  who  oppose 
them  ;  the  sight  of  blood  terrifies  the  others,  and  the  cries  of 
the  wounded  silence  them.  The  eunuchs'  soldiers  are  allowed 
to  enter  each  house,  for  the  men  of  Praousta  are  too  poor  to  be 
able  to  provide  for  more  than  one  wife,  and  the  poor  man's 
wife  has  no  separate,  secluded  apartments.  She  goes  about  in 
the  house  unveiled,  and  attends  to  her  domestic  occupations 
while  her  husband  is  out  hunting  or  fishing.  The  search  of 
the  eunuchs  and  soldiers  for  the  girl  is  therefore  easily  con- 
ducted ;  in  each  house  there  is  but  one  wife  and  she  is  un- 
veiled, as  are  also  the  children  ;  the  maidens,  however,  timidly 
shrink  back  and  draw  their  veils  more  closely  about  them. 
The  strange  soldiers,  however,  do  not  go  so  far  in  their  bold- 
ness as  to  raise  the  veils  of  the  girls.  And  what  would  it  avail 
them  to  do  so  ?  Neither  they  nor  the  eunuchs  have  ever  seen 
the  face  of  the  sheik's  daughter. 

"  It  is  useless  to  search  farther,"  murmured  the  eunuchs, 
after  having  looked  through  the  last  house  in  the  village, 
without  finding  Masa.  "  It  is  useless.  It  was  useless  to  look 
for  her  elsewhere  than  in  the  sheik's  house,  and  there  we  did 
not  find  her.  The  law  forbids  our  doing  more,  and  the  tschor- 
badji,  when  he  placed  the  soldiers  at  the  disposal  of  our  gra- 
cious master,  and  ordered  them  to  accompany  us,  expressly 
commanded  that  we  should  not  enrage  the  men  of  Praousta 
to  desperation,  or  to  any  thing  contrary  to  law." 

"  But  remember,  brother,"  said  the  other  eunuch,  "  what 
our  master  said.  We  must  bring  him  back  this  runaway 
slave  or  we  lose  our  heads  !  And  truly  I  would  much  rather 
keep  my  head  on  my  shoulders  than  have  it  rolled  to  the 
ground." 

"  And  so  would  I  mine,"  said  the  first.  "  Therefore  we  will 
do  all  we  can  to  get  possession  of  this  slave.  A  week  is  a 
long  time,  and  I  hardly  think  we  shall  have  to  wait  so  long." 


180  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"There  is  one  other  matter  we  must  not  lose  sight  of," 
murmured  the  first  eunuch,  as  they  ascended  the  stairway  to 
Ca valla,  followed  by  the  soldiers.  "We  are  to  watch  the 
crazy  young  captain,  the  boulouk  bashi,  and  report  all  he  does, 
to  our  master.  It  seems  to  me  there  may  be  some  connection 
between  the  young  boulouk  bashi  and  the  flight  of  the  slave. 
Let  us  keep  our  eyes  open,  for  our  heads  are  at  stake." 

And  with  gloomy  looks  they  presented  themselves  to  their 
master  on  their  return  to  the  palace,  to  inform  him  that  they 
had  made  thorough  search  for  Masa  in  the  sheik's  house,  and 
had  not  found  her. 

"  And  have  you  nothing  to  report  concerning  the  young 
man,  Mohammed  Ali  ?  "  asked  the  pacha. 

The  eunuchs  informed  him  that  they  had  not  yet  seen  him, 
having  as  yet  been  wholly  occupied  with  their  search  for  the 
escaped  slave  ;  they  would,  however,  have  something  to  report 
to  his  excellency  concerning  the  boulouk  bashi  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  or  that  very  evening,  perhaps. 

"  Who  knows  where  Mohammed  Ali  now  is  ? " 

"  He  has  not  been  seen  at  the  palace  since  the  reception  of 
the  soldiers  in  the  court-yard." 

"  He  must  have  gone  to  the  hut  his  mother  once  occupied, 
as  he  often  does  when  he  wishes  to  be  alone." 

Of  late  he  had  been  absent  less  than  usual,  having  promised 
his  friend  Osman  to  live  and  stay  with  him.  But  now  that  he 
is  captain  of  a  company,  it  would  perhaps  not  become  him  to 
remain  at  the  palace  as  the  tschorbadji's  guest ;  for  this  reason 
he  would  probably  go  to  his  own  hut  to  take  up  his  abode 
there.  Yes,  he  has  passed  the  night  in  his  own  little  house, 
and  he  has  just  quitted  it  and  walked  into  the  main  street  of 
the  city,  on  his  way  to  the  store  of  the  merchant  Lion. 

The  merchant  saw  him  coming,  and  hastened  forward  to 
congratulate  him  on  the  high  honor  conferred  upon  him,  and 
to  rejoice  over  the  stately  appearance  of  the  young  man, 
who  pleased  him  well  in  his  uniform,  with  his  sword  at  his 
side. 

"  Truly  a  beautiful  uniform,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  I  have 
but  one  regret,  and  that  is,  that  your  mother,  Sitta  Khadra,  is 
not  here  to  see  you  in  your  magnificence.  How  she  would 


WHERE   IS  SHE?  181 

rejoice  to  see  her  son,  her  heart's  darling,  her  Mohammed  Ali, 
in  all  his  glory  ! " 

''I,  too,  wish  my  dear  mother,  Sitta  Khadra,  were  here 
now,"  said  Mohammed,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  have  never  before 
missed  and  needed  her  as  much  as  now  ;  and  you  are  right, 
too,  in  thinking  she  would  rejoice  could  she  see  me  now. 
Yes,  with  all  her  heart,  Mr.  Lion.  Ah  life,  were  beautiful 
indeed,  if  Death  were  not  always  standing  threateningly  be- 
fore us  !  He  takes  from  us  what  we  love  most,  and  esteem 
highest ;  we  must  ever  be  on  our  guard  against  him,  and 
keep  our  door  barred  that  he  may  not  steal  into  our  midst  and 
rob  us  of  some  fair  life." 

The  merchant  regards  him  with  amazement.  He  has  never 
heard  the  young  boulouk  bashi  talk  in  this  sentimental  man- 
ner before,  and  it  surprises  him  too,  to  see  his  countenance  so 
changed — so  radiant,  serene,  and  cloudless,  the  chaste,  thought- 
ful brows — so  bright,  the  flash  of  his  large  brown  eyes. 

"'  Mohammed,  my  young  friend,  what  bliss  has  Fortune  be- 
stowed on  you  ?  Tell  your  friend  the  secret ;  for,  truly  all 
that  concerns  and  pleases  you,  gladdens  my  own  heart.  Tell 
me  what  has  worked  this  change  in  you  ?" 

"  And  you  still  ask  ?  You  see  me  in  my  uniform — in  my 
glory,  as  you  call  it — it  is  this  that  has  worked  the  change  ! " 

The  merchant  shook  his  head.  "  No,  it  is  not  that,  Moham- 
med Ali  ;  that  which  sparkles  in  your  eyes,  and  resounds  from 
your  lips  in  such  joyous  words,  has  nothing  to  do  with  your 
uniform  or  with  your  new  dignity.  It  must  be  something  en- 
tirely different ;  yet,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  tell  me,  I  will  ask 
you  no  further.  May  Allah  be  with  you  in  all  things,  and  I 
will  entreat  the  same  of  my  God.  I  think  and  trust  both  will 
hear  the  prayer,  for  they  are  one  and  the  same,  after  all. 
Now,  my  young  friend,  come  into  my  store  with  me  and  let 
us  chat  with  each  other  while  we  smoke  the  nargile,  and  re- 
fresh ourselves  with  a  cup  of  coffee. — Ho  !  ye  lads  ;  Admeh, 
bring  us  coffee  and  the  nargile,  with  some  of  the  finest  tobacco 
— some  of  that  intended  for  the  sultana  at  Stamboul,  that  is  to 
be  sent  off  to-morrow.  There  is  great  joy  in  my  house  to-day, 
for  Mohammed  Ali,  the  young  boulouk  bashi,  is  here." 

He  seats  himself  on  a  cushion  covered  with  Persian  carpet, 


182  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

and  requests  Mohammed  to  seat  himself  on  another  at  his  side. 
He  does  as  requested,  but  it  does  not  escape  the  merchant's  ob- 
servant eye  that  he  conforms  to  this  hospitable  usage  with  im- 
patience, and  does  not  wish  to  remain  long.  He  therefore 
does  not  urge  him  to  remain  when  he,  after  a  short  time,  rises 
and  asks  the  merchant  to  go  with  him  to  the  store. 

He  wishes  to  buy  all  sorts  of  things.  He  has  received  his 
first  salary  from  the  tschorbadji  to-day,  and  desires  to  spend  a 
portion  of  it  for  some  of  the  pretty  things  of  which  there  are 
such  quantities  and  varieties  in  the  merchant's  store. 

"  It  depends  on  what  you  wish,  Mohammed.  Is  it  carpets 
or  cushions  ?  or  is  it  female  attire  or  jewelry  ?  Do  you  want 
mirrors,  embroidered  veils,  or  silken  shawls  ?  What  is  it  you 
want  ? " 

Somewhat  confused  and  embarrassed,  Mohammed  looks  at 
the  merchant  and  hardly  knows  what  to  say. 

"  Then  let  me  have  a  carpet ;  I  wish  to  spread  it  out  in  my 
room.  I  have,  until  now,  changed  nothing  in  my  hut,  but 
have  left  it  just  as  it  was  when  Sitta  Khadra  lived  in  it.  Now, 
however,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  not  perhaps  become  the 
boulouk  bashi  to  continue  to  live  so  wretchedly." 

"  Yes,  the  old  story — with  office  comes  pride,"  said  the  mer- 
chant, laughing.  '•  The  boulouk  bashi,  of  course,  needs  car- 
pets and  all  sorts  of  furniture.  Here  is  an  arm-chair  inlaid 
•with  mother-of-pearl ;  does  it  suit  ?  Here  are  Persian  car- 
pets ;  the  colors  are  a  little  faded,  and  you  can  have  them  at 
a  low  price." 

"  No,  nothing  with  faded  colors.  Let  me  have  your  most 
beautiful  carpet !  Let  the  ground  be  white  and  covered  with 
flowers,  with  roses  and  violets  ;  and  I  wish,  too,  they  could 
have  life  and  fragrance  !  " 

"  Oho,  Mr.  Boulouk  Bashi  !  "  cried  the  merchant,  laughing, 
and  raising  his  finger  threateningly.  "  Now  the  secret  is  out ; 
you  are  in  love  !  This  carpet  is  not  for  yourself,  but  for  some 
beautiful  woman.  Ah,  yes,  I  have  heard  something  about 
this  affair  before,  and  now  I  know  it  is  true." 

"  What  have  you  heard,  sir  ?  What  is  it  that  is  said  of  me  ? " 
asked  Mohammed,  gravely,  his  countenance  suddenly  dark- 
ening. 


WHERE   IS  SHE?  183 

"  Well,  people  ask  why  it  is  that  Osman,  the  tschorbadji's 
son,  is  so  very  affectionate  to  you,  and  why  the  governor  him- 
self has  always  so  distinguished  you,  and  now  made  you  bou- 
louk  bashi  ? " 

"  I  had  supposed  it  was  because  I  deserved  it,"  said  Moham- 
med, hastily,  ''  and  I  thought  Osman  showed  his  affection  be- 
cause he  loved  the  friend  who  had  grown  up  with  him." 

•'  He  assuredly  does  love  you,  and  the  tschorbad  ji  also  re- 
wards you  on  account  of  your  merit,  or  he  would  not  have 
done  so  at  all,  and  would  not  have  chosen  you  for  what  he  de- 
sires of  you." 

"  And  what  does  he  desire  of  me  ?  For  what  has  he  chosen 
me?" 

"  It  is  said  he  wishes  you  to  become  the  husband  of  the 
beautiful  Marina,  his  niece." 

"  I  do  not  even  know  this  lady,"  said  Mohammed,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders. 

"  You  do  not  know  her,  but  she  perhaps  knows  you,"  said 
the  merchant,  smiling.  "  She  is  very  beautiful,  it  is  said.  She 
is  married,  as  you  are  aware,  to  my  rival,  the  merchant  across 
the  street.  I  have  observed  that  this  fair  lady  opens  her  shut- 
ters, to  peep  out  at  Mohammed,  whenever  he  passes  by.  The 
neighbors  say  this  is  why  her  husband  has  become  jealous,  and 
threatens  to  drive  her  away,  if  she  continues  to  look  after  the 
young  men.  You  now  perceive,  Mohammed,  that  Marina,  the 
tschorbadji's  niece,  has  an  eye  on  you,  and  perhaps  even  two, 
and  that  her  husband  knows  it.  The  peace  of  the  house  has 
thus  been  broken  on  your  account,  and  the  people  say  the 
tschorbadji  will  now  take  his  niece  home  again,  and  that  you 
are  to  marry  her  afterward.  It  is  a  good  match,  Mohammed, 
a  very  good  match.  I  shall  be  disappointed  if  you  do  not 
marry  this  lady.  She  is  rich,  very  rich  ;  and  are  you  aware 
that,  with  your  epaulets,  your  uniform,  and  your  handsome 
sword,  you  must  have  money.  Moreover,  my  son,  he  who  in- 
tends to  rise  in  the  world  must  have  a  great  deal  of  money  ! 
It  is  not  through  his  own  merit  that  a  man  is  advanced.  If 
he  is  poor,  he  remains  in  the  dust.  You  know  I  have  offered 
to  assist  you,  but  you  refused  me  because  you  did  not  wish  to 
accept  benefits,  and  you  were  right.  My  advice  you  can,  how- 


184  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

ever,  accept ;  and  my  advice  is,  marry  the  beautiful,  the  rich 
Marina,  when  her  husband  divorces  her,  and  sufficient  time 
has  elapsed.  She  is  very  young,  younger  than  you  ;  my 
young  friend  Mohammed  numbers  eighteen  years,  and  the 
tschorbadji's  young  niece  only  fifteen.  Take  my  advice,  and 
preserve  your  heart  until  it  is  time  to  let  its  wings  grow,  and 
then  stretch  out  your  hand  after  the  fair  Marina." 

"  Thanks  for  your  advice,"  cried  Mohammed,  laughing. 

Never  before  had  the  merchant  heard  him  laugh  so  hearti- 
ly ;  never  before  had  he  seen  him  make  such  a  display  of  his 
white  teeth.  Until  to-day,  Mohammed  had  been  a  remarkably 
grave  youth.  What  can  it  be  that  makes  him  look  so  joyous 
and  laugh  so  heartily  all  of  a  sudden  ? 

"  Let  us,  however,  hear  no  more  about  this  fair  Marina.  I 
do  not  know  her,  and  have  never  seen  her.  That  is  to  say,  I 
may  have  seen  her  once  or  twice,  with  Osman,  when  we  hap- 
pened to  pass  the  veiled  woman  and  her  husband  on  the 
street ;  and  I  believe  she  did  stand  still  and  look  after  us.  I 
thought,  at  the  time,  it  was  on  Osman's  account,  and  probably 
it  was.  How  could  the  rich  lady  have  turned  to  look  at  the 
poor  lad  Mohammed  Ali  ?  And  now  to  other  matters.  Show 
me  goods,  show  me  carpets,  and  I  want  the  best  and  the  hand- 
somest. The  carpet  is  to  lie  where  my  mother's  mat  once  lay, 
and  on  which  she  died  ;  and  this  spot  cannot  be  too  hand- 
somely adorned.  Therefore,  give  me  a  costly  carpet." 

"  Let  it  be  just  as  you  say,"  said  the  merchant,  smiling.  He 
then  called  his  servants,  and  ordered  them  to  bring  down  his 
handsomest  carpets,  and  spread  them  out  before  the  young 
captain,  in  order  that  he  might  select  one. 

"  You  want  nothing  else,  only  a  carpet  ? " 

Mohammed  turned  his  head  a  little  to  one  side,  and  avoided 
meeting  the  merchant's  keen  gaze.  "O  yes,  a  number  of 
other  things.  I  want  some  table-ware,  cups,  glasses,  and  the 
like.  I  also  want,"  he  continued  talking  rapidly,  and  with 
forced  indifference,  "  I  also  want  a  warm  woollen  cloak,  such 
as  women  wear.  I  promised  a  cloak  to  an  old  friend  of  my 
mother.  Give  me  a  warm  woollen  cloak." 

The  merchant  made  no  reply.  He  only  smiled  signifi- 
cantly, and  brought  out  the  goods  ;  dark,  plain  goods,  such 


WHERE   IS   SITE?  185 

as   became    an    old    woman,    and    a    friend    of    poor    Sitta 
Khadra. 

But  Mohammed  promptly  rejected  it.  That  would  not  be 
nice  enough  for  a  present.  He  wanted  better,  finer  material, 
and  in  lighter  colors. 

The  merchant  expressed  no  astonishment,  but  silently 
brought  out  finer  goods.  Mohammed  selected  the  very  hand- 
somest cloak  for  the  old  friend  of  his  deceased  mother.  Final- 
ly, he  timidly  asked  for  finger-rings  and  bracelets. 

"  Also  for  the  old  friend  of  your  good  mother  Khadra  ? " 
inquired  the  merchant,  with  an  air  of  mock  gravity. 

Mohammed  did  not  reply  ;  he  had  probably  not  heard  him. 
He  quietly  selected,  from  the  box  handed  him,  a  beautiful 
ring  set  with  a  precious  stone,  then  four  beautiful  cups  and 
saucers  of  the  finest  Chinese  porcelain,  and  a  variety  of  other 
articles  necessary  for  housekeeping.  He  concluded  by  de- 
manding a  pair  of  pillows  and  coverlids. 

Mr.  Lion  asks  no  more  questions  ;  he  now  knows  that  Mo- 
hammed intends  to  marry,  and  is  furnishing  his  house.  He  is 
satisfied,  and  lets  his  young  friend  have  all  he  has  selected  at 
half  the  price  he  would  have  charged  other  purchasers. 

Mohammed  joyfully  paid  the  price,  and  gazed  at  the  beau- 
tiful articles  he  had  purchased,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  If  you  wish  it,  Mohammed,"  said  the  merchant,  "  I  will 
send  a  servant  with  you." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  going  to  my  house,  and  he  can  accom- 
pany me  with  the  things." 

Mohammed  took  leave  of  the  merchant,  and  left  the  store, 
the  servant  following  heavily  laden. 

After  a  few  moments  Mohammed,  however,  turned,  and 
came  back  to  the  merchant,  who  was  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old looking  after  him. 

"  One  thing  more,  dear  sir.  You  are  my  friend,  and,  as  I 
well  know,  mean  well  by  me,"  said  he,  in  low,  hasty  tones. 

"  Certainly,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  gladly  would  I  prove  to 
you  my  friendship." 

"  You  can  do  so  ;  tell  no  one  of  my  purchases — no  one,"  re- 
plied Mohammed  with  a  look  of  entreaty. 

The  merchant  promised  to  be  silent  on  the  subject. 
13 


186  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  DOUSE. 

'k  Thank  you,  kind  friend.  I  am  happy  ;  yet  all  depends 
on  Allah's  blessing." 

He  pressed  the  merchant's  hand  once  more,  and  walked 
out,  hastily  beckoning  to  the  servant,  who  had  remained 
standing  in  the  street,  to  follow  him.  He  then  walked  on  to 
the  little  hut  of  his  mother  Khadra. 

He  pushes  open  the  door,  and  the  servant  follows  him  into 
the  room.  The  bundle  is  laid  on  the  floor,  on  the  place  where 
his  mother  died,  and  Mohammed  generously  and  proudly,  like 
a  man  of  rank,  hands  the  servant  a  gratuity,  and  bids  him  re- 
turn. He  walks  off  well  pleased,  and  Mohammed  is  now  left 
alone  in  his  mother's  hut. 

An  old  woman  is  sitting  just  opposite  the  hut.  She  was 
there  when  he  entered,  smoking  a  short  pipe,  her  arms  crossed 
on  her  knees.  She  looked  about  carelessly,  only  now  and  then 
casting  a  glance  at  the  house  of  the  young  boulouk  bashi,  who 
had  locked  himself  in. 

Mohammed  had  thought  nothing  of  her  presence.  What 
cared  he  for  the  old  woman  there  on  the  stone,  smoking  her 
pipe  ? 

When,  after  a  short  time,  he  steps  out  of  his  hut,  she 
stretches  out  her  hand  and  begs  for  alms. 

Hardly  looking  at  her,  he  draws  a  copper  coin  from  his 
pocket,  gives  it  to  her  and  walks  on. 

The  old  woman  keeps  her  seat,  and  mutters  a  few  words  to 
herself. 

Mohammed  walks  on  rapidly. 

A  boy  is  skipping  along  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
whistling  a  merry  air. 

What  does  this  concern  Mohammed  ?  He  walks  on  down 
the  street  on  the  one  side,  the  boy  follows  him  on  the  other. 

Mohammed  heeds  the  boy  as  little  as  he  had  heeded  the  old 
woman.  What  does  he  care  for  the  boy,  who  seems  wholly 
absorbed  in  his  musical  efforts  ? 

He  entered  the  store  of  the  merchant,  who  dealt  in  all 
kinds  of  provisions  ;  in  olives,  meats,  chocolate,  sugar,  and 
eggs.  Mohammed  purchases  some  of  all  these  articles,  and  it 
amuses  and  astonishes  the  merchant  to  see  the  young  officer 
become,  of  a  sudden,  his  own  housewife.  But  he  does  not 


THE   DEPARTURE.  187 

venture  to  say  so,  or  ask  any  questions  ;  Mohammed's  grave 
looks  and  bearing  forbid  any  attempt  at  raillery. 

A  servant  is  ordered  to  put  the  things  in  a  basket,  and  take 
them  to  his  house. 

As  he  walks  out  of  the  store  again,  he  hears  the  boy's  shrill 
whistling  in  the  distance.  He  pays  no  attention  to  this,  and 
walks  on  quietly.  The  whistling  suddenly  ceases,  and  the  boy, 
who  had  posted  himself  in  the  vicinity,  so  that  Mohammed 
could  not  see  him  on  coming  out,  now  runs  after  him,  step- 
ping close  to  the  basket  in  passing  ;  he  casts  a  quick,  search- 
ing glance  at  the  articles  it  contained,  as  if  taking  note  in 
expectation  of  being  called  on  to  give  an  account  of  its  con- 
tents. 

The  old  woman  is  still  sitting  opposite  Mohammed's  house, 
reposing  there,  apparently,  after  smoking  her  pipe.  Her  head 
is  thrown  back,  resting  against  the  door,  and  her  eyes  are 
closed  ;  she  seems  to  be  sleeping. 


CHAPTER  X. 

•  THE  DEPARTURE. 

A  NEW  and  great  event  occupied  the  attention  of  the  in- 
habitants of  Cavalla  and  Praousta  on  the  following  morning. 
A  large  and  magnificent  ship  had  entered  the  harbor  during 
the  night,  a  vessel  of  the  Turkish  navy  :  its  dark-red  flag,  with 
the  grand-sultan's  crown  on  its  dark  field,  showed  it  to  be  such. 
The  sailors  were  attired  in  glittering  uniforms,  and  on  the 
deck  stood  a  tent  embroidered  with  gold,  beneath  it  a  luxuri- 
ous couch  of  swelling  cushions.  The  ship  was  still  hand- 
somer than  the  one  on  which  Cousrouf  Pacha  had  arrived 
three  years  before.  But  then  he  had  come  to  Cavalla  as  an 
exile,  and  had  not  been  sent  away  with  the  same  ceremony 
with  which  they  were  now  prepared  to  welcome  him  back. 
For  it  is  already  known,  and  the  intelligence  has  rapidly 
spread,  that  this  ship  has  come  from  Stamboul  to  convey 
Cousrouf  Pacha  back  to  his  home  ;  and,  therefore,  was  it  so 


188  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

festively  decorated  with  flags,  and  carpets,  and  garlands  of 
flowers. 

His  friend  the  grand-admiral,  Hussein  Pacha,  has  been 
working  in  his  interest,  and  the  sunlight  of  his  master's  favor 
is  once  more  shed  upon  the  head  of  the  exile. 

With  great  dignity  Cousrouf  received  the  captain,  who 
bowed  profoundly  before  him,  while  those  who  accompanied 
him  threw  themselves  upon  the  ground,  touching  the  earth 
with  their  foreheads.  He  received  the  imperial  missive  with 
perfect  composure,  opened  it,  and  inclined  his  head  with  a 
gracious  expression  of  countenance,  as  though  he  were  dispens- 
ing and  not  receiving  a  favor. 

"  'Tis  well,  captain — I  am  ready  !  Our  most  gracious  em- 
peror and  master  has  written  to  me,  and  as  he  wishes  " — (he 
emphasized  this  word  ;  the  sultan  only  expresses  a  wish,  he 
does  not  command  Cousrouf  Pacha) — "as  he  wishes  me  to  re- 
turn to  Stamboul  with  all  convenient  speed,  keep  every  thing 
in  readiness  to  sail." 

'•  Will  your  excellency  sail  to-day  ? "  asked  the  captain. 

Cousrouf  Pacha  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  I  do  not  know. 
It  may  be  to-day,  and  yet  it  may  not  be  possible  to  depart  for 
a  week.  It  depends  on  circumstances  which  I  cannot  entirely 
control ;  but  keep  every  thing  in  readiness,  as  I  may,  should  mat- 
ters take  a  favorable  turn,  be  enabled  to  depart  at  any  hour." 

Walking  backward,  his  head  profoundly  inclined,  the  cap- 
tain quits  the  saloon  ;  his  suite  creep  out  on  their  knees. 

Cousrouf  stands  haughtily  erect,  gazing  proudly  after 
them.  When  they  had  gone  out,  he  utters  a  cry,  a  command, 
and  a  side-door  opens,  and  two  of  his  eunuchs,  his  confidants, 
enter  the  room. 

"  Make  your  report !  "  he  exclaims,  sternly,  as  he  raises  his 
hand  threateningly,  and  then  lets  it  fall  again  to  his  side. 
"  Tell  me,  dogs  ;  where  is  the  runaway  slave  ? " 

They  threw  themselves  on  their  knees  before  him,  and 
crossed  their  arms  on  their  breasts. 

"  O  lord  and  master,  we  do  not  know." 

"You  do  not  know,  you  dogs?  Then  you  are  deter- 
mined to  be  chastised  '( ''  cries  the  pacha.  "  You  have  no  trace 
of  her  whatever  ?  " 


THE   DEPARTURE.  189 

uNo,  O  master  ;  not  as  yet." 

"  Yet  you  are  aware  that  I  have  only  given  you  seven  days' 
lime  ?  If  you  do  not  restore  her  to  me  within  that  time,  your 
heads  fall  !  You  have  not  forgotten  that  ? " 

"  No,  master,  we  have  not  forgotten  it." 

"You  are  wise,"  said  the  pacha,  quietly.  "What  about 
Mohammed  Ali  ;  have  you  caused  his  movements  to  be  closely 
watched  ? " 

"  Yes,  master,  we  have  done  so." 

u  Then  speak,"  commanded  the  pacha,  falling  back  on  his 
cushions  with  closed  eyes,  slowly  smoking  his  chibouque,  and 
opening  his  lips  from  time  to  time  to  allow  a  whiff  of  smoke 
to  curl  slowly  upward.  "  Your  report,  dogs  !  " 

With  ready  tongues  the  eunuchs  reported  all  the  old  wom- 
an and  boy  had  observed. 

"  Continue,"  commanded  the  pacha,  as  they  both  ceased 
speaking,  "  continue." 

"  Master,  we  have  nothing  further  to  report." 

"  You  are  a  couple  of  blockheads,"  observed  their  gracious 
master.  "  Goods,  table-ware,  provisions — you  know  nothing 
else." 

"No,  lord  and  master,  we  know  of  nothing  else." 

"But  the  one  thing,  the  most  important,  tell  me  :  where 
did  the  boulouk  bashi  pass  the  night  ? " 

"  Master,  we  believe  he  passed  it  in  his  house." 

"  You  only  believe  it  ?  This  night  you  must  know.  But 
take  notice  of  this  :  Be  careful  not  to  injure  himself  or  his 
property.  His  person  and  his  property  shall  not  be  touched  : 
this  I  have  sworn.  Yet  know  this  :  If  you  do  not  tell  me  to- 
morrow morning  where  the  boulouk  bashi  has  passed  the 
night,  you  shall  both  receive  the  bastinado,  and  after  such  a 
fashion  that  you  will  find  walking  anything  but  pleasant,  and 
yet  I  will  have  you  driven  through  the  city  in  search  of  the 
information  you  are  so  slow  in  getting."  t 

With  a  gesture  of  the  hand  he  motioned  to  them  to  leave 
the  room,  and  they  withdrew  as  they  had  entered,  on  their 
knees.  After  closing  the  door  behind  them,  they  jumped 
hastily  to  their  feet. 

"  The  bastinado  !    Did  you  hear  ? "  asked  the  one.     "  We 


190  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

must  find  out  at  every  cost  where  the  boulouk  bashi  passes  the 
night.  But  how  can  we  ?  We  are  neither  to  injure  his  prop- 
erty, nor  to  touch  him  or  what  belongs  to  him.  We  are  not 
allowed  to  open  his  door  or  break  into  his  house  ;  what  are 
we  to  do  ? " 

'•  I  have  thought  of  something,"  said  the  other.  "  Come,  I 
will  tell  you.  Let  us  get  everything  ready." 

Dark  clouds  covered  the  heavens,  shutting  out  the  light  of 
the  moon  and  stars,  and  night  sank  down  over  the  earth 
earlier  than  usual. 

The  people  had  retired  to  rest,  and  the  houses  were  dark. 
Suddenly  a  bright  light  illumined  the  surrounding  darkness, 
and  cries  for  help  resounded  through  the  air.  The  house  that 
stood  opposite  Mohammed's  is  enveloped  in  flames,  and  its  oc- 
cupants rush  out  yelling  and  screaming  for  help. 

The  old  woman  and  the  boy  ran  over  the  way  and  knocked 
at  the  window-shutters  of  the  young  boulouk  bashi. 

"  Come  out,  come  out,  Mohammed  Ali  !  Save  yourself  ! 
Your  house  has  commenced  to  burn  !  " 

All  was  still  in  the  house,  as  though  Mohammed  knew  the 
voice  lied,  that  there  was  no  danger,  and  that  he  could  sleep 
on  quietly. 

They  knock  at  the  shutters,  they  shake  the  door,  but  all  re- 
mains silent  within  ;  the  light  of  the  fire  does  not  awake  him, 
the  cries  do  not  reach  his  ear.  He  is  not  there  ;  he  is  assuredly 
not  passing  the  night  in  his  house.  It  has  certainly  been  set 
on  fire  in  vain  ;  the  poor  people  have  sacrificed  their  property, 
and  the  spies  have  failed  to  discover  where  Mohammed  Ali 
has  passed  the  night. 

On  the  following  morning  howls  and  lamentations  are 
heard  in  the  lower  apartments  of  the  harem  ;  from  time  to 
time  the  sound  of  blows  can  be  distinguished,  and  then  again 
howls  and  cries  of  pain. 

No  one  dares  irfquire  into  the  cause  of  these  outcries,  for  in 
his  own  apartments  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  master,  and  even  the 
governor  would  not  venture  to  call  him  to  account  for  his 
treatment  of  his  own  servants. 

Osman  lay  on  his  cushions  in  the  little  portion  of  his  gar- 
den that  had  alone  been  reserved  for  the  use  of  himself  and 


THE  DEPARTURE. 

father,  since  Cousrouf  Pacha  had  been  occupying  the  remain- 
der with  his  harem.  He  heard  the  howls  and  cries  of  pain 
that  came  from  the  harem,  and  bowed  his  head  in  sad- 
ness. 

'*  These  poor  wretches  must  suffer  for  it ! "  he  murmured  to 
himself. 

But  suddenly  his  countenance  brightens,  as  he  sees  his 
friend  approaching  in  his  glittering  uniform,  and  he  extends 
both  hands  to  greet  him. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Mohammed,  after  this  long  ab- 
sence ! " 

"  As  I  am  you  !  "  said  the  latter,  his  countenance  radiant 
with  smiles.  "  Forgive  me  for  not  having  come  to  see  you  all 
day  yesterday.  I  was  so  busy  with  my  soldiers,  and  still  more 
so  with  myself,  Osman  !  I  have  had  much  to  learn  to  keep 
the  soldiers  from  observing  that  I  was  a  mere  beginner  in  the 
art  of  war. " 

"  And  that  is  all  you  have  to  say  in  excuse  for  your  con- 
duct?" said  Osman,  looking  searchingly  into  his  friend's 
countenance. 

"  That  is  all,"  replied  he,  hastily,  endeavoring  to  look  his 
friend  full  in  the  face.  But  he  could  not,  and  looked  aside. 

Osman  notices  this,  and  nods  his  head  with  a  smile  full  of 
meaning. 

"  Pray  seat  yourself  at  my  side  Mohammed  ?  Let  me  throw 
my  arm  around  your  neck,  and  then  listen  to  me,  my  friend. 
Offer  no  resistance,  for  I  must  confess  that  your  friend  Osman 
has  been  employing  spies  for  some  time  past,  and  he  knows 
more  than  Mohammed  supposes,  and  much  more  than  Cous- 
rouf Pacha  dreams  of." 

"  What  do  you  know  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  trembling 
slightly.  "  I  pray  you  tell  me,  Osman  !  " 

"  Listen,  Mohammed,"  said  Osman,  bending  toward  him,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Lamentations  have  just  resounded  from  the  in- 
terior of  the  pacha's  harem.  Two  of  bis  eunuchs  have  received 
the  bastinado,  and  do  you  know  why  ?  Because  they  could 
not  inform  him  where  Mohammed  Ali  passed  the  last  and  the 
preceding  night." 

"  For  that  reason  ? "  asked  Mohammed.     "  I  was  in  my 


192  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

house.  If  Cousrouf  Pacha  had  himself  asked  me,  I  should 
have  told  him  I  was  there  !  " 

Osman  gently  shook  his  head.  "No,  Mohammed,  you 
were  not  in  your  house  ;  and  Cousrouf  Pacha  well  knows  you 
were  not.  Do  you  know  why  ?  He  lighted  a  lamp  to  look  for 
you." 

''  A  lamp  ! "  asked  Mohammed. 

"  Yes,  a  lamp  !  And  do  you  know  what  this  lamp  consisted 
of  ?  Of  the  house  that  stood  opposite  yours.  They  set  it  on 
fire,  and  knocked  at  your  doors  and  window  shutters  to 
awaken  you. — And,  if  you  had  been  there,  you  would  have 
heard  the  outcries  of  the  people,  and  would  assuredly  have 
gone  to  their  assistance.  No,  Mohammed,  you  were  not  in 
your  house  last  night !  " 

"  I  was  above,  on  the  summit  of  the  rock,"  said  Moham- 
med, hastily,  and  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  manner. 

"  No,"  said  Osman,  gently.  ''  You  forget,  Mohammed,  that 
you  came  down  in  the  evening  with  the  four  pigeons  you  had 
shot,  and  you  also  forget  that  you  went  on  down  to  Praousta 
as  it  grew  dark." 

''  No,"  said  Mohammed,  hastily,  ''  no,  that  I  did  not  do  ! " 

"  Yes,  you  did,  my  friend,"  said  Osman,  quietly.  "  A  crip- 
ple stood  by  the  way-side,  whom  you  brushed  against  in  pass- 
ing by  ;  he  cursed  you,  and  followed  you  for  a  while,  contin- 
ually cursing,  but  you  walked  on  without  heeding  him." 

Mohammed  looked  at  him  in  dismay.  u  How  do  you  know 
all  this  ? " 

"  I  told  you  before  that  I  had  spies  who  watched  both  you 
and  the  pacha.  I  employ  them  because  I  love  and  wish  to 
protect  my  Mohammed  !  "  He  placed  his  lips  close  to  his  ear, 
and  whispered  :  "  To  protect  you  and  the  white  dove  that  has 
sought  safety  in  your  bosom.  Be  still  !  Do  not  deny  me  this 
favor  !  Consider  that  your  happiness  is  also  that  of  your 
friend,  and  that  he  watches  over  you  when  you  are  imprudent 
in  the  rashness  of  your  overflowing  bliss.  Listen,  Moham- 
med !  You  went  down  to  the  sea-shore,  to  the  secret  place 
among  the  cliffs,  known  only  to  you  and  me  !  Do  you  not 
remember  the  time  when,  filled  with  anxiety  on  your  account, 
we  were  seeking  you  in  that  vicinity,  and  Mr.  Lion  saw  you 


THE   DEPARTURE.  193 

creep  out  of  a  crevice  in  the  rocks  ?    You  afterward  pointed 
out  to  me  the  place  to  which  it  led,  and — " 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  mention  to  no  one  that  there  is  a  cave 
there,  and  that  you  know  the  way  to  it  ! "  said  Mohammed, 
anxiously. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  was  watching  over  you  ? "  said 
his  friend,  gently.  "  No  one  shall  hear  of  it,  only  be  careful 
yourself  that  no  one  sees  you  enter  it.  You  are  surrounded 
by  spies.  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  called  away,  and  the  ship  lies  in 
the  harbor  awaiting  him.  And  do  you  know  what  he  told  the 
captain  who  asked  him  if  he  would  sail  to-day  ?  He  replied  : 
1  It  is  uncertain,  it  depends  on  circumstances  not  entirely  with- 
in my  control.'  Do  you  know  what  that  means?  He  will 
not  sail  until  he  has  discovered  and  punished  Masa,  the  run- 
away slave,  as  he  calls  her.  Do  you  know  the  nature  of  the 
punishment  administered  to  runaway  female  slaves,  and  to 
women  who  have  been  guilty  of  infidelity  to  their  masters  ? " 

Mohammed  shuddered.  "By  Allah,  Osman,  you  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  the  pacha  would  carry  out  here,  with  us, 
where  the  cruel  laws  of  the  harem  are  unknown,  the  punish- 
ment administered  to  runaway  female  slaves  among  the 
Turks?" 

Osman  nodded  in  assent.  "  You  must  know,  Mohammed, 
that  the  commander,  now  fully  restored  to  the  favor  of  the 
imperial  majesty,  in  Stamboul,  has  the  right,  wherever  he  may 
be,  to  punish  his  slaves,  that  is,  his  property,  as  he  pleases. 
To  save  her  father,  Masa  made  herself  his  property.  We,  my 
father  and  I,  were  witnesses,  when  she  received  the  money, 
and  when  he  said  to  her  :  '  Here  is  the  money  you  asked  me 
for  !  I  give  it  gladly,  but  you  know  what  I  give  it  for,  and 
you  have  agreed  to  the  bargain  ! ' " 

"  O  unhappy  woman  ! "  groaned  Mohammed. 

"  Be  still,  my  Mohammed  P'  said  Osman,  in  warning  tones. 
"  Be  on  your  guard  !  You  are  beset  with  spies,  for  these  eu- 
nuchs are  battling  for  their  lives.  If  they  have  not  restored 
Masa  alive  to  their  master  in  a  week,  their  heads  fall ;  he  has 
sworn  this,  and  they  know  he  will  keep  his  word.  They  are 
cunning,  and  have  sharp  eyes.  Mohammed,  if  you  can  avoid 
it,  do  not  go  down  into  the  grotto  to-day.  Every  thing  de- 


194  MOHAMMED   A  LI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

pends  on  deceiving  the  spies  and  putting  them  on  a  false  track. 
Therefore,  pass  the  night  in  your  own  house." 

"  Impossible  !  quite  impossible  ! "  said  Mohammed,  his  eyes 
kindling  at  the  thought  of  his  love.  "  It  cannot  be,  even  if  it 
should  cost  my  heart's  blood  !  I  cannot  remain  in  my  house." 

"  Then  remain  with  me.  Do  so  for  her  sake.  I  tell  you 
your  white  dove  is  in  danger  !  I  am  better  informed  than  the 
rest,  for  I  have  in  my  service  a  spy,  a  good  angel,  whose  eyes 
rest  neither  by  day  nor  night,  and  whose  ears  hear  every  thing 
that  concerns  Mohammed  Ali." 

"  And  who  is  this  angel  ?  "  asked  Mohammed. 

"You  know  her  well."  said  Osman.  "It  is  Marina,  my 
dear  cousin.  She  often  goes  into  the  pacha's  harem,  and  has 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  two  of  the  young  women,  who  tell 
her  a  great  many  things  in  their  thoughtlessness.  Nothing 
escapes  Marina's  ear,  for  I  will  confess,  my  friend,  that  she 
loves  the  young  boulouk  bashi,  and  is  ready  to  separate  her- 
self from  her  jealous  husband  on  his  account.  But  I  candidly 
told  her  that  he  did  not  love  her,  and  that  she  must  bury  her 
wishes.  She  wept  long,  Mohammed,  but  when  she  had  dried 
her  eyes,  she  said  she  loved  him  so  dearly  that  she  would  do 
all  that  lay  in  her  power  to  secure  his  happiness,  and  that  she 
would  watch  over  him  as  his  friend." 

"She  is  a  noble  woman,"  said  Mohammed.  "Bear  my 
greeting  to  her,  but  I  pray  you  tell  her  nothing  more  concern- 
ing me." 

"  You  may  rest  assured,"  said  Osman.  "  We  do  not  confide 
our  dearest  secrets  to  women,  for  we  are  not  always  certain  of 
their  silence.  She  knows  nothing,  except  that  the  pacha  is 
your  enemy,  and  that  the  latter  has  told  these  women  that  he 
is  seeking  an  opportunity  to  destroy  you.  You  have  often  of- 
fended him  with  your  hasty  words  and  threatening  manner, 
and  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  not  the  man  to  pardon  any  offence. 
Marina  is  well  aware  of  this,  and  therefore  observes  and  lis- 
tens to  everything.'' 

"  Does  Cousrouf  Pacha  know  that  there  is  any  connection 
between  me  and  Masa  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  is  a  close  observer,  and,  on  the  morning  of  the 
flight,  he  read  in  your  countenance,  as  I  also  did,  that  there 


THE   TRIPLE   OATH.  195 

was  no  happier  man  in  Cavalla  than  Mohammed  Ali.  But 
yesterday  his  countenance  was  gloomy,  to-day  it  is  radiant. 
Cousrouf  Pacha  did  not  fail  to  divine  the  cause  of  this  sudden 
transformation.  Therefore  be  on  your  guard,  my  friend,  and 
wait  until  it  is  dark  and  all  are  asleep  before  you  go  to  your 
cave." 

"  I  will  do  so  ;  I  will  be  careful,  Osman — I  swear  it.  Ac- 
cept my  warmest  thanks  for  your  care  and  watchfulness. 
Allah  will  some  day  enable  me  to  prove  my  gratitude,  and 
will  also  permit  you  to  be  a  witness  of  your  friend's  happiness. 
And  now,  farewell,  and  to-morrow,  if  it  be  Allah's  will,  I  shall 
return  to  you  in  joyousness  and  safety." 

"  May  Allah  grant  it  ! "  said  Osman.  "  Allah  be  with  you, 
and  the  prophet  illumine  your  heart !  One  thing  more,  my 
Mohammed  :  Lovers,  it  is  said,  are  forgetful ;  the  warning 
voice  easily  escapes  their  hearing,  and  with  open  eyes  they 
dream  blissful  dreams  which  make  them  oblivious  of  reality. 
It  may  therefore  be  well  to  arouse  them  sometimes,  and  I  will 
try  to  awaken  my  dear  dreamer.  If  you  hear  the  report  of  a 
pistol  in  the  night,  consider  that  it  is  Osman  warning  you  to 
be  on  your  guard.  But  if  two  other  shots  soon  after  follow 
the  first,  this  signal  shall  announce  that  danger  threatens,  and 
that  I  am  calling  you.  In  that  case,  come  to  me  at  once,  no 
matter  what  time  of  night  it  may  be.  I  shall  await  you. 
Now  you  may  go,  my  friend,  and  Allah  be  with  you  ! " 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  TRIPLE  OATH. 

"WE  must  assure  his  safety,"  murmured  Osman,  as  he 
looked  after  his  friend,  who  was  hastily  leaving  the  garden. 
"  His  life  must  at  least  be  sacred,  and  I  will  go  at  once  with 
my  father  to  Cousrouf  Pacba.  It  is  a  sacrifice,  for  I  hate  this 
proud,  overbearing  man.  He  seems  to  consider  himself  as 
conferring  a  favor  when  he  condescends  to  accept  our  hospi- 
tality. I  hate  him  !  Yet  I  will  humiliate  myself  for  my 


196  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

friend's  sake,  and  play  the  humble  and  devoted  servant.  I 
shall  find  strength  to  do  so,  for  it  is  for  Mohammed  and  his 
white  dove.  Yes,  I  will  go  with  my  father  to  the  pacha's 
apartments." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Tschorbadji  Hassan,  with  a 
startled  and  sorrowful  expression  of  countenance  entered  the 
room  where  Cousrouf  Pacha  lay  reclining  on  his  soft  cush- 
ions, dreamily  smoking  his  chibouque. 

"  Is  it,  then,  really  true  ?  The  whole  house  is  filled  with 
dismay  and  regret.  Is  it  true  that  you  intend  leaving  us  to- 
morrow ? " 

"Perhaps,"  replied  the  pacha,  composedly,  rising  slowly 
from  his  cushions  to  quiet  the  governor,  with  haughty  con- 
descension. 

"  So  soon  ?  Then  it  is  indeed  true  ?  We  had  heard  so,  but 
we  could  not  and  would  not  believe  it.  We  love  you  so  dear- 
ly that  we  shall  unwillingly  see  you  depart.  Even  my  son, 
my  poor  sick  Osman,  who  cannot  walk  up  a  stairway  because 
of  his  weakness,  has  requested  that  he  may  be  permitted  to 
come  in  person  to  take  leave  of  you,  and  to  beg  that  you  will 
remember  and  be  gracious  to  him  in  the  future  also.  Will 
your  excellency  permit  his  servants  to  bring  him  in  ?" 

Cousrouf  Pacha  made  no  reply,  but  arose,  walked  hastily 
to  the  door,  opened  it  himself,  and  stepped  out  to  Osman,  who 
lay  on  the  couch,  beside  which  stood  the  slaves  who  had 
brought  him  up. 

"  Osman,  I  thank  you  for  this  proof  of  your  friendly  con- 
sideration.— Take  hold  now,  ye  dogs,  and  bear  your  master 
into  the  room  ! " 

He  walked  beside  the  couch  while  the  slaves  bore  it  into 
the  room,  and  deposited  it,  at  his  command,  beside  his  own 
cushions. 

"  Now  come,  too,  tschorbadji,  and  seat  yourself  at  our  side, 
and  let  us  smoke  the  chibouque  together  for  the  last  time." 

"The  pipe  of  peace,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  as  the  savages  do 
when  seated  together  for  the  last  time  in  their  wigwam,"  said 
Osman,  smiling. 

The  pacha  cast  a  searching  glance  at  him. 

"Tschorbadji,  you  have  a  very  learned  son.     I  know  iioth- 


THE   TRIPLE   OATH.  197 

ing  of  such  things,  have  never  heard  of  them.  Who  smoke 
the  pipe  of  peace  ? " 

"The  savages  in  America,  when  they  become  reconciled  to 
their  enemies,  and  receive  them  in  their  wigwam." 

"  But  that  has  no  application  to  us.  In  the  first  place,  we 
are  not  savages,  but  very  respectable  and  considerable  people  ; 
and  secondly,  I  trust  I  am  not  receiving  enemies  here,  with, 
whom  it  is  necessary  to  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace." 

"  Certainly  not,  but  very  faithful  friends  and  devoted  serv- 
ants, who  have  come  to  bid  you  a  last  farewell." 

"  You  are  right,  tschorbadji,  a  last  farewell,  I  trust,"  said 
the  pacha,  laughing.  "  For  (and  forgive  me  for  saying  so)  it 
is  horribly  dull  here  in  your  city  of  Cavalla.  Your  revolu- 
tionary fishermen  and  the  rest  of  the  rabble  here  would  make 
my  life  intolerable.  I  admire  you,  tschorbadji,  for  having  the 
courage  to  bear  it — and  particularly  you,  my  dear  Osman. 
You  should  endeavor  to  obtain  some  position  in  Stamboul. 
There  you  would  recover  your  health  ;  the  rude  sea  air  here 
is  assuredly  injurious  to  your  weak  lungs." 

"  I  wish  he  would  do  so,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  with  a  sigh. 
"You  are  certainly  right,  the  keen  sea  air  and  the  rough 
storms  that  often  surge  down  from  the  mountains  are  injuri- 
ous to  my  son,  but  it  is  different  in  Stamboul,  where  one  is  pro- 
tected from  the  surrounding  mountains.  I  wish  he  would  go 
to  Stamboul,  and  that  you  would  assist  him  in  obtaining  a 
suitable  position  there." 

"  Father,"  replied  Osman,  gently,  "  I  will  not  separate  my- 
self from  you.  Wherever  you  are  there  will  I  remain,  for  we 
two  are  inseparable." 

"Then  a  better  place  must  be  found  for  your  father,  Os- 
man." 

"  If  that  could  be,  excellency,  I  should  be  happy  indeed  ! " 
cried  the  governor. 

"I  am  under  obligations  to  you,  tschorbadji,"  observed  the 
pacha,  bowing  haughtily.  "  I  am  really  greatly  in  your  debt. 
With  all  my  servants  I  have  been  your  guest  for  three  years, 
and  I  vainly  urged  you  to  accept  payment.  Indeed,  I  hardly 
dared  speak  of  it  to  the  wealthy  and  distinguished  tschorbadji, 
and  it  was  not  fitting  to  attempt  to  remunerate  him.  But  yet, 


198  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

I  assure  you,  this  weight  of  gratitude  rests  heavily  on  me.  I 
have  accepted  your  hospitality  without  recompense  for  these 
three  long  years.  Now,  however,  tschorbadji,  now  that  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha  is  ahout  to  return  to  Stamboul,  he  can  at  last  repay 
this  burden  of  gratitude  and  debt.  You  are  my  friend,  and  I 
now  beg  you  to  tell  me  of  something  I  can  do  for  you.  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha  now  has  power  and  influence  which  he  will  exert 
for  those  he  loves.  Therefore  I  entreat  you,  tschorbadji,  ac- 
quaint me  with  your  wishes." 

"  I  have  no  other  wishes  than  those  of  my  son.  They  call 
me  here  an  affectionate  father,  and  mention  me  as  an  exam- 
ple of  passionate  paternal  love,  and  they  are  right.  My  Os- 
man  is  every  thing  to  me  ;  he  is  my  wife,  child,  sister,  friend, 
comrade,  my  all.  What  Osman  wishes  that  is  my  wish  also. 
Therefore,  if  it  so  pleases  you,  transfer  your  gracious  favor  to 
my  son,  and  grant  his  request,  if  he  has  one  to  prefer." 

"  I  swear  by  my  beard,  by  Allah,  and  by  the  prophet,  if 
Osman  expresses  a  wish,  I  will  grant  it  certainly  and  surely. 
I  repeat  my  triple  oath,  and  call  Allah  to  witness  it.  What 
he  requests  I  will  grant  !  " 

"You  have  heard  this  oath,  father,  and  Allah  has  heard  it, 
too,"  said  Osman,  solemnly  rising  from  his  couch  and  turn- 
ing the  gaze  of  his  large  luminous  eyes  full  on  the  pacha's 
countenance.  "  I  have  a  wish,  a  great,  a  cherished  wish." 

"  And  can  I  grant  it  ? " 

"  You  can  if  you  will." 

"  Certainly  I  will,  for  I  am  now  bound  by  the  triple  oath. 
It  is  sacred  to  every  Moslem,  and  sacred  to  me  at  all  times. 
So  speak,  Osman,  and  I  will  grant  what  you  request." 

Osman  rose  from  his  seat,  and  the  pale,  weak  youth  stood 
there  with  so  solemn  an  expression  that  the  .tschorbadji  and 
the  pacha  involuntarily  arose  from  their  cushions. 

"  Cousrouf  Pacha,  hear  my  wish  :  I  require,  wish,  and  ex- 
pect of  you,  that  you  hold  sacred,  that  is,  that  you  neither 
personally,  nor  through  any  one  else,  insult  or  injure  the  per- 
son of  my  friend  Mohammed  Ali,  the  only  being  I  love  beside 
my  father. " 

The  pacha  regarded  him  with  a  long,  gloomy,  threatening 
look,  and  made  no  reply.  Osman  read  in  his  face  the  strug- 


THE   TRIPLE   OATH.  199 

gle  that  was  raging  in  his  soul,  and  continued  in  gentle 
tones  : 

"  Cousrouf  Pacha,  look  at  me.  I  am  a  frail  reed,  liable  to 
be  thrown  to  the  ground  by  every  breath  of  wind.  I  am  a 
poor  blade  of  grass  upon  the  sea-shore,  liable  to  be  swept  to 
destruction  by  each  wave.  Oh,  grant  me  this  request,  in  or- 
der that,  while  the  sun  still  shines  for  me,  I  may  enjoy  the 
last  hours  of  my  existence  in  peace  ! " 

"  Yes,  do  so,  mighty  pacha,"  cried  the  tschorbadji,  bursting 
into  tears,  and  falling  upon  his  knees  with  folded  hands. 
"  Cousrouf  Pacha,  see  me  here  at  your  feet,  and  grant  my  son's 
request  in  order  that  he  may  live.  I  know  that  he  loves  Mo- 
hammed Ali,  that  he  loves  him  even  more  than  his  father. 
He  fears  that  his  friend  is  in  danger  through  you  ! " 

"  And  why  do  you  fear  this,  Osman  ? ''  asked  the  pacha, 
slowly  and  angrily. 

"  I  fear  it,"  replied  Osman,  softly,  "  because  I  well  know 
that  Mohammed  has  often  offended  you.  He  is  still  so  young 
and  impetuous,  and  the  consciousness  of  his  poverty  and  ob- 
scure descent  burdens  his  soul  and  irritates  him,  in  the  presence 
of  your  greatness  and  power." 

"And  yet  he  dares,  in  his  littleness,  to  meet  me  with 
haughty  words  and  to  look  at  me  as  though  he  were  my  equal  ! 
Should  the  boy  not  step  respectfully  aside,  and  bow  his  head 
in  humility,  when  he  sees  me  ?  You  are  right,  Osman,  I  hate 
this  proud,  obstinate  lad  !  " 

"  I  have  uttered  my  only  wish,"  said  Osman.  gently.  "  You 
will  grant  it,  for  I  have  your  triple  oath.  I  repeat  my  wish 
once  more  :  Cousrouf  Pacha,  protect  and  spare  my  friend  Mo- 
hammed Ali ;  swear  that  no  harm  shall  be  done  him,  either 
by  you  or  by  your  servants.  Let  no  wicked  hand  seek  his 
life,  neither  by  poison,  by  weapons,  nor  by  any  other  means! 
Let  him  go  his  way  in  peace.  By  the  triple  oath  which  you 
have  sworn,  I  conjure  you  to  grant  this  wish." 

The  pacha  regarded  him  long  and  gloomily,  and  then  bowed 
his  head  slowly. 

u  I  swore  the  triple  oath,  and  Cousrouf  Pacha  has  never  yet 
broken  his  word.  Your  wish  is  accorded  ;  the  life  of  this  lad 
shall  be  sacred  to  me  henceforth  ;  no  hair  of  his  head  shall  be 


200  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

injured. ;  his  life  shall  not  be  sought  either  by  poison,  by  dag- 
ger, or  by  other  means  ;  he  may  go  his  way  in  peace,  but  woe 
to  him  if  we  should  meet  elsewhere  than  here,  in  Cavalla, 
where  I  honor  my  host  and  my  oath  !  Be  assured  now  and 
fear  nothing.  Mohammed  Ali's  life  is  sacred  to  me  ;  I  swear 
it!" 

"  I  am  content,  and  I  thank  you.  You  have  made  me  hap- 
pier than  I  have  been  for  a  long  time.  I  do  not  deny  that 
Mohammed  has  sometimes  deserved  to  be  reprimanded  for  his 
conduct,  but,  I  also  repeat,  he  is  still  so  young,  his  heart  so 
fiery,  his  soul  so  full  of  ardor  and  nobility.  He  will  yet  learn 
to  conform  to  the  customs  of  the  world." 

"  I  sincerely  hope  he  may,"  said  the  pacha,  quietly.  "  As 
yet  he  has,  however,  not  learned  it  ;  he  should  come  to  Stam- 
boul — there  he  would  be  taught  to  bend  his  proud  neck.  Tell 
me,  Osman,  have  I  now  paid  off  the  debt  of  gratitude  that 
rested  on  my  shoulders  ? " 

''  You  have  now  transferred  it  to  our  shoulders,"  exclaimed 
the  tschorbadji,  ardently.  ''See  how  happy  my  Osman 
looks  ;  how  his  countenance  is  wreathed  in  smiles  !  There  is 
no  trace  of  sorrow  or  pain  in  his  features  now  ;  joy  is  restor- 
ing him  to  health  ;  and  I  owe  this  to  you,  and  shall  continue 
to  thank  you  for  it,  when  you  are  no  longer  here.  We  wish 
you  all  happiness  !  Our  friend  and  benefactor,  the  great  gen- 
eral, Cousrouf  Pacha,  will  in  the  future  be  called  on  to  per- 
form great  things,  and  the  report  of  his  glory  and  power  will 
reach  us  here  on  our  peninsula," 

"  I  hope  it  may,"  said  the  pacha,  softly,  as  he  proudly  in- 
clined his  head.  "  Yes,  I  hope  it  may.  My  glory  will  re- 
sound throughout  the  world,  and  may,  perhaps,  be  trumpeted, 
forth  by  the  virgin  Fame,  so  favorable  to  me,  even  here  in 
this  rocky  nest.  The  imperial  majesty  in  Stamboul  has  elected 
me  to  great  things,  and  Allah  will  permit  me  to  live  to  fulfil 
them." 

"  He  will  certainly  do  so,"  protested  the  governor. — "  And 
now,  my  son,  with  his  excellency's  permission,  I  will  call  the 
slaves,  and  have  you  carried  down  again.  I  am  afraid  we  are 
trespassing  on  valuable  time,  as  his  excellency  wilj  have  many 
things  to  attend  to." 


THE   TRIPLE   OATH.  201 

The  pacha  assented  to  this  by  his  silence,  and  the  governor 
hastened  to  call  the  slaves,  that  they  might  bear  his  son  down 
into  the  garden. 

The  pacha  pressed  Osman's  hand  once  more,  assured  him 
of  his  friendship,  and  promised  him  solemnly  that  Mohammed 
Ali  need  no  longer  be  fearful  and  anxious. 

"  And  he  is  not,"  cried  Osman,  quickly  ;  "  he  fears  noth- 
ing/' 

"Be  still,  my  son,"  exclaimed  the  governor,  interrupting 
him  hastily  ;  "  his  excellency  only  means  that  he  will  be  con- 
siderate with  him,  and  that  you  will  have  nothing  to  fear  on 
Mohammed's  account.  And  now,  come,  let  us  go." 

He  then  bowed  profoundly  to  the  pacha,  and  walked  out 
beside  the  couch  on  which  the  slaves  were  carrying  his  son. 

The  pacha's  countenance  grew  still  darker  when  the  door 
had  closed  behind  father  and  son. 

"  This  Osman  is  shrewd,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  He 
knows  how  to  divine  one's  thoughts. — Achmed  and  Ali,  come 
in!" 

The  eunuchs  glided  in  through  the  side-entrance,  and  re- 
mained standing  near  the  door,  their  heads  profoundly  in- 
clined. He  slowly  raised  his  hand,  and  beckoned  to  them  to 
come  nearer. 

"What  progress  have  you  made  in  your  search  ? " 

The  eunuchs  threw  themselves  on  the  floor,  profound  hu- 
miliation depicted  on  their  faces. 

"  Mighty  and  gracious  master  !  we  have  been  tardy  slaves, 
and  humbly  acknowledge  our  fault ;  we  will  do  all  we  can  to 
redeem  it,  and  we  hope  soon  to  bring  better  news.  Yes,  we 
hope,  gracious  master,  that  we  shall  soon  be  able  to  announce 
what  our  master  desires  to  know/' 

"  Then  you  have  a  trace  ? "  said  the  pacha,  his  countenance 
lighting  up  with  joy. 

"  Yes,  master,  as  yet  only  a  trace  ;  but  we  hope  soon  to 
have  certainty." 

"  Good,  I  will  inquire  no  further.     But  of  one  thing  I  must 
remind  you  :  three  days  have  already  passed,  within  the  next 
four  days  you  will  have  brought  me  the  runaway  slave  or 
your  heads  fall." 
14 


202  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   1IIS   HOUSE. 

"  O  gracious  master,  we  hope  to  do  so  much  sooner  ! " 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  pacha,  with  a  slight  inclination  of  his 
haughty  head.  "  And  now  listen  further  :  spread  the  report 
of  my  departure  to-morrow  morning  ;  say  that  Cousrouf  Pa- 
cha will  perhaps  depart  this  evening,  with  his  harem  and  his 
servants,  to  return  no  more." 

"  It  shall  be  as  our  gracious  master  commands,"  said  the 
two  eunuchs. 

"  You  know  Mohammed  Ali,  the  new  boulouk  bashi  ? " 

"  Yes,  excellency,  we  know  him." 

"  Let  no  one  dare  do  him  a  bodily  injury.  Look  down 
humbly  when  you  pass  him,  and,  if  he  insults  you  with  word 
or  look,  step  nevertheless  respectfully  aside.  Let  none  of  you 
dare  to  touch  him  to  injure  a  hair  of  his  head,  or  to  seek  his 
life  with  poison,  the  dagger,  or  any  other  weapon.  Let  the 
life  of  Mohammed  Ali,  the  new  boulouk  bashi,  be  sacred  to 
you  all.  Have  you  heard  ? " 

"We  have  heard,  mighty  master." 

With  an  impatient  gesture  he  dismissed  them,  and  he  con- 
tinued to  walk  to  and  fro  in  his  room  long  after  they  had  gone 
out.  His  brow  is  dark,  evil  thoughts  fill  his  breast. 

"  I  have  sworn  the  triple  oath,  and  I  must  keep  it.  I  no 
longer  threaten  him  personally.  Woe  to  him  if  my  suspicion 
proves  true,  and  Masa  has  found  an  asylum  and  protection 
with  him  !  I  will  keep  my  word  !  No  hair  of  Mohammed's 
head  shall  be  injured,  but  I  will  punish  him  through  her  ;  for 
truly,  if  he  loves  her,  such  punishment  will  be  harder  than 
any  thing  I  could  do  to  him  personally.  The  eunuchs  say 
they  are  on  her  track,  and  it  must  be  so,  or  they  would  not 
dare  to  say  it.  And  these  bloodhounds,  being  once  on  the 
track,  are  sure  to  catch  their  prey  !  " 

The  eunuchs  had  faithfully  obeyed  their  master's  command, 
and  hardly  had  an  hour  elapsed  when  all  Praousta  knew  that 
Cousrouf  Pacha  was  on  the  point  of  taking  his  departure  from 
the  peninsula,  to  return  no  more. 

They  were  also  informed  that  a  ship  had  come  to  convey 
him  back  to  Stamboul,  where  the  grand-sultan  was  to  recom- 
pense him  for  his  long  exile  with  power,  magnificence,  and 
honors.  The  matter  was  much  discussed,  and  they  whisper- 


THE   TRIPLE   OATH.  203 

ingly  confessed  to  each  other  that  they  would  be  well  pleased 
to  know  that  the  proud  man,  who  was  the  cause  of  so  much 
unhappiness,  had  taken  his  departure. 

Was  it  not  on  his  account  that  the  double  tax  had  been  im- 
posed on  the  people  ?  Had  not  the  extra  expenditure  been  in- 
curred on  his  account  ?  True,  the  tschorbadji  had  attempted  to 
deny  this,  but  the  additional  expense  was  nevertheless  clearly 
owing  fco  the  pacha's  presence  in  Cavalla.  Moreover,  the  sad 
story  of  the  unhappy  Masa,  who  had  chosen  to  die  rather  than 
become  a  slave,  was  now  known.  Yes,  she  had  taken  her  own 
life — of  that,  no  one  now  entertained  a  doubt.  She  had  as- 
suredly thrown  herself  from  the  cliffs  into  the  sea.  Some 
boys,  who  were  engaged  at  night  in  setting  out  nets,  had  seen 
a  white  figure  alone  on  the  Ear  of  Bucephalus. 

That  white  figure  was  certainly  Masa.  She  had  thrown 
herself  into  the  sea  in  order  that  she,  the  free  daughter  of  the 
sheik,  might  not  be  compelled  to  become  a  slave  and  enter  the 
harem  of  the  stranger.  They  had  sought  for  the  body  of  the 
poor  girl  on  the  shore  and  among  the  cliffs.  The  sea  had, 
however,  been  stormy  throughout  the  entire  day,  and  the  surg- 
ing waves  must  have  borne  her  away  into  the  depths,  where 
she  had  become  a  welcome  prey  to  the  greedy  shark.  No- 
where a  trace  of  her  ;  she  is  surely  dead. 

The  complaints  and  lamentations  of  the  sheik  are  also  si- 
lenced— he  reclines  motionless  on  his  cushions.  Grief  and  anx- 
iety have  made  him  helpless,  and  chained  him  to  his  couch. 
He  suffers  in  silence,  and  his  friends  hope  that  death  will  soon 
release  him  from  his  misery. 

And  this  overbearing  stranger,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  is  to  blame 
for  all  this  ! 

He  gave  himself  the  appearance  of  graciously  making  the 
fishermen  a  present  of  the  money  to  'pay  the  double  tax.  But 
he  had  deceived  them.  Oh,  had  they  but  known  that  Masa 
had  sold  herself  for  this  money,  they  never  would  have  ac- 
cepted it !  They  therefore  hate  this  haughty  stranger,  and 
are  glad  that  he  is  about  to  leave  their  coast  forever. 

The  ship  still  lies  quietly  at  anchor,  her  streamers  flutter 
gayly  in  the  air,  her  sides  are  hung  with  bright-colored  carpets, 
and  garlands  of  flowers  are  entwined  with  her  rigging.  The 


204  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

ship  presents  a  brilliant  spectacle,  and  it  may  well  be  that  the 
pacha  is  to  embark  this  very  evening.  But  no  !  Night  sinks 
down,  and  all  remains  dark  on  board  the  ship,  which  casts  a 
huge  shadow  across  the  waves.  No,  Cousrouf  Pacha  will 
certainly  not  embark  this  evening.  The  night  is  dark,  and  all 
is  still  in  Praousta  and  on  the  sea-shore. 

And  who  would  care  to  be  up  and  abroad  at  this  late  hour  ! 
Whoever  has  a  hut  and  a  bed,  remains  at  home  and  does  not 
go  out  into  the  night.  No,  no  one  is  abroad. 

But  is  not  that  the  sound  of  footsteps  that  now  breaks  in 
upon  the  stillness  of  the  night  ? 

A  dark  shadow  is  gliding  along  among  the  cliffs  on  the 
shore.  Who  can  say  that  it  is  a  human  being  !  No  star  sheds 
its  light  on  his  path — the  moon  is  obscured  behind  dark  clouds. 
It  is  perhaps  an  eagle  that  has  been  cast  down  by  the  storm, 
and  is  now  wearily  winging  its  flight  across  the  cliffs.  Who 
can  say  that  it  is  a  man  that  is  gliding  among  the  cliffs  ?  No 
one  sees  him  ;  no  one  can  betray  him.  The  shadow  now 
stands  still  for  a  moment,  and  for  a  single  moment  the  moon 
breaks  forth  from  behind  the  dark  clouds.  It  sees  the  figure, 
it  sees  the  man  who  stands  there  on  a  rock,  his  large,  luminous 
eyes  gazing  anxiously,  suspiciously  about  him,  as  though  he 
feared  betrayal. 

The  kindly  moon  has  permitted  him  to  take  a  look  at  the 
landscape  round  about  him,  and  to  assure  him  there  is  no  one 
in  the  vicinity  to  betray  him.  All  is  at  rest,  he  alone  is  awake 
and  abroad.  The  moon  has  done  enough  ;  it  glides  behind  a 
dark  cloud  and  conceals  itself  again. 

The  waves  murmur  at  the  feet  of  him  who  has  been  stand- 
ing there  listening,  and  he  now  glides  down  from  the  cliff  to 
the  opening  in  the  rock.  He  creeps  in  at  this  opening,  and  on 
through  the  narrow  passage  to  the  cave,  until  he  can  stand  up- 
right. He  now  utters  a  cry,  and  his  cry  is  answered  in  the 
distance.  He  stands  still  and  leans  against  the  wall  of  the 
cave,  overwhelmed  either  with  anxiety  or  happiness.  It  is 
with  happiness,  for  he  will  find  her  :  she  has  answered  him. 


THE   PARADISE   UNDER  THE   EARTH.  2Q5 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  PARADISE  UNDER  THE  EARTH. 

THEY  rest  heart  to  heart  for  a  moment,  and  then  Moham- 
med sinks  down  on  his  knees,  and  kisses  the  hem  of  her  dress 
and  her  little  feet,  and  she  bows  down  to  him  and  whispers  in 
his  ear  words  which  he  hardly  understands,  and  yet  each  of 
them  resounds  in  his  soul  like  heavenly  music. 

"  O  these  little  feet !  They  were  not  created  to  come  in 
contact  with  the  earth,  and  to  be  wounded  by  thorns.  You 
should  tread  on  flowers  only,  and  flutter  from  rose  to  rose  as 
the  butterfly  from  flower  to  flower.  Alas,  and  yet  your  home 
is  now  a  dark  cave  !  Masa,  it  tortures  me  to  see  you  here,  un- 
der the  earth  and  in  darkness." 

"  Is  it  then  dark  here  ? "  asked  she,  in  her  sweet  voice.  "  I 
thought  we  had  the  light  of  the  stars  here  !  Yes,  look  there, 
I  am  right ;  look  there  !  "  She  raised  her  arm  and  pointed 
upward  to  the  opening  in  the  roof  of  the  cave  through  which 
the  heavens  looked  down.  ''  See,  Mohammed,  there  are  the 
stars,  there  are  the  heavens.  Let  us  seat  ourselves  on  this 
beautiful  spot." 

"  You  are  right,  Masa.  There  is  starlight  in  this  cave,  al- 
though clouds  obscure  the  heavens.  Yes,  here  in  our  paradise 
we  are  elevated  above  all  earthly  care  ;  here  is  our  heaven, 
and  you  are  the  revelation  of  Allah.  O  Masa,  let  me  sink 
down  before  you  in  adoration,  kiss  the  hem  of  your  garment, 
and  entreat  your  forgiveness  !  " 

"  My  forgiveness  ? "  said  she,  nestling  her  little  head  on  his 
breast,  as  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  cushions  brought  here 
by  Mohammed's  care,  and  covered  with  Persian  carpets.  ''  My 
forgiveness,  and  for  what  ? " 

"  Because  I  thought  ill  of  you,  Masa  ;  because,  while  I  lay 
in  anguish  up  yonder  on  the  rock  the  other  day,  I  accused  you 
in  my  senseless  anger,  and  cursed  my  love  for  you.  I  thought 
you  were  a  woman  like  all  other  women,  and  yet  you  are 
beautiful  and  fair  and  pure,  like  a  houri  of  paradise.  I  wished 
to  tear  you  from  my  heart  as  we  tear  weeds  from  a  flower- 


206  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

garden,  and  my  heart  was  to  be  henceforth  accessible  only  to 
ambition  and  glory  ;  and  now  I  know  that  all  this  is  vain  and 
empty.  Mohammed  no  longer  has  aspirations  after  glory  and 
renown  ;  Mohammed  no  longer  knows  that  wreaths  of  fame 
are  twined  and  that  laurels  bloom  without  in  the  world  ;  Mo- 
hammed only  knows  that  this  is  paradise,  and  that  heaven's 
fairest  flower  blooms  here  at  his  side.  I  feel  your  breath,  my 
flower,  I  inhale  fragrance  from  your  lips,  and  see  the  starlight 
in  your  eyes,  though  none  shines  in  upon  us  from  the  dark 
world  without.  I  am  with  you,  and  you  with  me.  Oh,  let 
me  rest  at  your  side,  and  forget  the  world,  and  may  it  forget 
us  too  ! " 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  words,"  murmured  she.  "  You 
are  wise  and  learned,  and  I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  who  has  no 
words  to  express  her  thoughts,  and  hardly  thoughts  for  that 
which  she  feels.  I  do  know,  however,  that  I  am  hi  paradise, 
and  Allah  forbid  that  my  feet  should  bear  me  out  into  the 
world  again  !  Oh,  I  never  wish  to  see  it  again,  Mohammed. 
And  beautiful  it  would  be,  it  seems  to  me,  to  slumber  here  in 
sweet  tranquillity,  never  to  awake  again." 

"  Oh,  it  were  heavenly,  my  sweet  dove,"  murmured  he, 
pressing  her  to  his  heart,  "  to  fall  into  a  sweet  slumber  here, 
and  to  journey  hence,  heavenward,  to  awaken  in  paradise.  I 
would  we  had  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  world  ;  yet,  swear 
to  me,  Masa,  that  when  the  world  holds  us  in  its  embrace  again, 
you  will  love  me  eternally — say  eternally  ! " 

"  What  does  eternally  mean  ? "  asked  she,  softly.  "  I  do 
not  know  what  eternally  means.  All  life  is  a  single  day.  At 
sunrise  this  morning  I  felt  that  I  loved  you,  and  now  do  you 
suppose  that  Masa  is  so  forgetful  a  child  that  she  cannot  pre- 
serve what  she  feels  in  her  heart  for  a  single  day  until  the 
sun  sets  in  the  evening  ? " 

"  Yes,  Masa,  you  are  right ! "  exclaimed  Mohammed,  in 
tones  of  enthusiasm.  "  Life  is  as  a  single  day.  When  the  sun 
sets,  night  comes,  and  we  sink  down  and  dream,  and  in  our 
dream  we  are  conscious  only  of  the  love  of  the  blissful  day. 
Yes,  life  is  but  a  day,  and  may  this  day  end  blissfully  for  us 
as  it  began  !  It  is  dark  around  us,  and  I  cannot  see  you.  But 
look,  Allah  is  kind  :  he  sends  us  his  light.  The  moon  has 


THE   PARADISE   UNDER   THE   EARTH.  207 

broken  forth  from  behind  the  clouds,  and  it  shines  into  our 
grotto  and  illumines  your  fair  face.  The  moon  and  the  stars 
love  you,  Masa  ;  yet  they  shall  not  tear  you  from  me.  No, 
Masa  must  remain  with  me,  that  my  life  may  not  end  in  dark- 
ness and  misery,  that  I  may  be  happy.  O  good  moon,  mes- 
senger of  the  prophet,  with  your  brilliancy  you  light  up  the 
countenance  of  my  houri.  Journey  on  in  your  course,  good 
moon,  and  tell  the  houris  and  the  angels  above  that  one  of 
their  sisters  has  remained  here  in  the  paradise  grotto,  and  that 
this  houri  is  mine  ;  mine — in  the  name  of  Heaven." 

He  pressed  her  to  his  heart  and  laid  his  head  in  her  lap. 
Both  were  silent. 

Suddenly  a  loud  report  resounded  through  the  stillness  of 
the  night.  Mohammed  released  himself  from  her  arms,  and 
sprang  in  terror  to  his  feet. 

"  That  was  the  report  of  a  pistol-shot.  Alas  !  it  awakens 
me  from  my  dreams.  All  bliss  is  at  an  end,  the  earth  is  again 
here,  and  calls  me  from  paradise." 

u  You  will  leave  me,  Mohammed  ! "  cried  she,  rising  from 
her  cushion.  "Mohammed,  you  intend  to  leave  me  to- 
night ? " 

"  O  Masa,  I  must !  Do  not  tremble,  my  white  dove  ;  all 
our  troubles  and  anxieties  will  soon  be  at  an  end.  That  re- 
port was  the  signal  that  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  preparing  to  de- 
part." 

"Is  it  then  really  true?"  asked  Masa,  her  countenance 
beaming  with  delight.  "  The  pacha  takes  his  departure  and 
restores  me  to  freedom  ! " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Mohammed.  "  He  was  to  have  embarked 
yesterday  evening,  and  who  knows  but  that  when  the  sun 
rises  the  ship  will  long  since  have  sailed  out  of  the  harbor. 
Yet  we  must  be  cautious.  It  might  be  only  a  pretence,  to  lull 
us  into  false  security.  It  is  for  this  reason,  Masa,  that  I  dare 
not  pass  the  night  here.  His  spies,  who  follow  and  observe 
me  everywhere,  might  announce  to  him  that  Mohammed  Ali 
had  again  passed  the  night  elsewhere  than  in  his  house.  Let 
us  be  cautious  while  misfortune  with  its  black  pinions  still 
hovers  over  us.  Afterward  the  sun  will  shine  for  us.  Con- 
sider this,  Masa,  and  I  will  conduct  you  out  into  life  again  as 


208  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

soon  as  he  shall  have  left  the  harbor.  The  whole  earth  shall 
then  be  our  paradise.  Let  us,  therefore,  wait  and  be  patient." 

She  stood  there  thoughtfully  ;  she,  too,  was  awakened 
from  her  dream,  and  life  with  its  cares  and  anxieties  had  laid 
its  hold  on  her. 

"  How  is  my  father  ? "  asked  she,  anxiously.  ''  O  Moham- 
med, I  have  forgotten  him  and  his  sufferings  since  you  have 
been  with  me.  You  are  silent.  He  is  dead.  Oh,  grief  for  his 
daughter  has  killed  my  good  father  ! " 

"  No,  Masa  !  he  is  not  dead,  but  he  is  ill.  I  do  not  deny  it, 
grief  has  gnawed  at  his  heart.  Therefore,  let  us  hope  that  our 
happiness  will  restore  him  to  health.  And  to-morrow  he  will 
behold  our  happiness  when  I  bring  you  to  him,  for  you  will 
be  free,  Masa,  as  soon  as  the  ship  has  sailed." 

"  I  shall  never  be  free,*'  she  cried  out,  aloud.  "  He  has  pur- 
chased me,  and  I  shall  remain  his  property.  O  Mohammed,  my 
soul  shudders,  for  I  am  forsworn  before  Allah.  By  Allah  and 
the  spirit  of  my  mother  have  I  sworn  that  I  would  return  and 
restore  to  him  his  property.  I  am  forsworn,  and  therefore,  Mo- 
hammed, when  you  leave  me,  the  ghius  come  and  nutter  about 
me,  pursuing  me  everywhere  and  whispering  in  my  ear  :  '  You 
are  lost  and  damned,  for  you  have  forsworn  yourself  by  the 
spirit  of  your  mother.'  And  then  I  fall  on  my  knees  and  pray 
to  the  welis  to  guard  and  protect  me  in  my  terror  and  anxiety. 
O  Mohammed,  when  you  are  here  I  am  in  paradise  ;  but  when 
you  are  away,  I  feel  myself  in  hell  !  Therefore,  remain  with 
me.  Do  not  leave  me  here  in  the  dark  night.  See,  the  stars 
are  all  hidden,  and  the  moon  is  covered  with  clouds.  Oh,  I 
was  wrong  when  I  said  there  was  no  night.  When  you  are 
with  me,  the  sun  shines,  though  it  be  night  without.  But 
when  you  are  not  with  me,  it  is  dark  night,  even  though  the 
sun  be  shining  without.  Do  not  leave  me  alone,  remain  with 
your  Masa,  my  Mohammed  ;  stay,  stay,  at  least  to-night." 

Can  he  resist  such  sweet  entreaty  ?  Can  he  tear  himself 
from  the  fair  arms  that  are  entwined  about  him  and  draw  him 
back,  and  rush  out  into  the  night  ?  Can  he  speak  of  prudence 
and  worldly  wisdom,  while  she  whispers  such  words  to  him 
in  her  sweet  voice  ? 

"Let  come  what  will  in  the  world  without,  let  all  be  over- 


THE  PARADISE  UNDER  THE  EARTH.        209 

whelmed  in  ruin,  love  is  here,  paradise  is  open,  and  you,  Masa, 
are  its  angel-occupant.  Let  the  world  pass  away  ;  let  the  firm 
rocks  be  shattered  ;  let  the  sea  swallow  all  and  leave  but  a 
desert  of  water  about  us,  I  am  content,  Masa,  to  embark  with 
you  in  a  little  boat,  you  and  I  alone,  to  ride  over  the  waves 
and  listen  to  the  melodies  which  the  naiads  sing  to  us  from 
the  deep,  and  to  what  the  voice  of  the  wind  proclaims.  O  my 
houri,  alone  with  you  in  the  boat,  what  care  I  for  the  world, 
for  magnificence  and  renown  ?  Let  others  seek  them,  they 
are  welcome.  And  though  Death  with  his  gloomy  visage 
stood  at  the  entrance  of  this  grotto  ready  to  destroy  me,  what 
care  I  ?  And  though  your  father  die  and  men  bury  him,  what 
care  we  ?  We  live  and  we  love." 

He  pressed  her  passionately  to  his  heart.  But  now  it  was 
she  who  drew  him  back  to  the  world,  to  reality. 

"  No,  Mohammed,  my  father  must  not  die.  Go  to  him,  step 
to  his  bedside  and  say  to  him  :  '  Pray  and  wait.  When  the 
gloomy  stranger  who  has  purchased  your  Masa  and  made  her 
his  property  shall  have  embarked  in  his  ship  and  sailed,  your 
daughter  will  return  to  you  in  love  and  happiness.  Wait, 
father.  Do  not  join  my  dear  mother  ;  wait  for  your  Masa.' 
Speak  to  him  thus,  and  I  know  he  will  live  to  see  his  Masa 
again.  No,  I  am  not  afraid.  The  ghins  will  not  enter  if  Masa 
kneels  at  the  entrance  and  prays  to  the  prophet  who  told  men 
that  they  were  to  love  one  another,  and  that  love  alone  could 
secure  happiness.  No,  I  am  not  afraid.  And  see,  Mohammed, 
day  is  breaking  ;  the  sun  will  soon  shine  in  upon  me,  and 
then  Masa  will  sing  the  song  taught  her  by  Djumeila  that 
speaks  of  love  and  stars.  I  am  no  longer  afraid,  Mohammed, 
for  I  am  your  beloved,  and  the  girl  whom  a  hero  has  chosen 
for  his  own  ;  how  could  she  lack  courage  ?" 

For  the  second  time  a  loud  report  now  resounded  through- 
out the  cave. 

"I  know  what  that  means,"  said  Mohammed,  anxiously. 
"  It  is  Osman  warning  me  to  be  on  my  guard.  '  I  will  give 
you  a  signal  when  danger  threatens,'  whispered  he,  in  my  ear, 
when  we  parted,  'that  you  may  know  that  your  friend  is 
watching  over  you  in  the  night  also.'  Yes,  I  must  go.  But 
listen,  Masa  :  when  I  am  gone,  replace  the  stone  I  showed  you 


210  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

yesterday,  before  the  opening,  and  then  go  back  into  the'cave 
to  the  point  where  the  passage  turns,  where  no  one  can  see 
the  entrance  to  the  second  cave.  Remain  there,  and  await  the 
return  of  him  you  love." 

"  I  will  do  so,  Mohammed.  When  you  have  gone,  I  will 
push  the  stone  before  the  entrance,  and  go  back  into  the  sec- 
ond cave,  where  I  will  fall  on  my  knees  and  pray  to  Allah 
and  his  prophet  until  my  beloved  returns." 

At  this  moment  a  third  report  resounded  through  the  cave. 

"Danger  threatens — Masa,  I  must  away.  We  will  soon  be 
'free  ;  farewell  until  then,  farewell  !  Ah  !  how  pale  you  have 
suddenly  become  !  Let  me  look  at  you  once  more,  my 
Masa  ! " 

He  raises  her  in  his  arms  and  carries  her  to  the  opening, 
and  the  moon  is  gracious  and  illumines  her  countenance,  but 
it  also  makes  it  deathly  pale. 

"  O  Masa,  my  white  dove,  how  pale  you  are  !  Yet  your 
eyes  are  bright — let  me  kiss  them.  And  with  this  kiss  I  swear 
I  will  love  you  eternally  !  And  now  kiss  me,  too,  and  let  this 
kiss  be  the  vow  of  your  eternal  love  for  me  ! " 

She  kissed  him  passionately.  "I  love  you,  Mohammed, 
and  you  alone  will  I  love  on  earth  ! " 

He  looks  at  her  tenderly,  and  shudders,  for  her  counte- 
nance is  still  deathly  pale. 

u  I  can  no  longer  look  upon  your  dear  face,  I  cannot ! "  he 
cries,  in  tones  of  anguish.  "  I  have  a  dread  foreboding  that 
I  see  you  for  the  last  time.  Farewell,  Masa,  farewell !  Pray 
for  me,  and  for  yourself,  and  for  our  love.  Farewell,  sweet 
being,  my  white  dove,  farewell  ! " 

He  folds  her  to  his  heart  once  more,  and  then  away,  away 
out  into  the  night.  He  still  hears  behind  him  the  tones  of 
the  sweet  voice  crying,  "  Farewell,  farewell ! " 

Then  all  is  still,  and  he  rushes  on  through  the  darkness  to- 
ward the  stairway  in  the  rock. 


BOOK  III. 
THE  MAMELUKES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

REVENGE. 

THE  night  was  mild  and  warm  ;  the  sea  rested  in  silent 
majesty  like  a  slumbering  lion,  and  the  wind  seemed  to  hold 
its  breath  in  order  that  his  repose  might  not  be  disturbed.  To 
be  in  the  open  air  on  such  a  night  was  good  for  the  weak 
breast  of  an  invalid,  and  Osman's  father  was  therefore  not 
surprised  when  his  son  expressed  a  desire  to  pass  the  night  in 
the  garden  pavilion,  in  preference  to  remaining  in  the  close 
apartments  of  the  palace.  He  would  be  protected  from  wind 
and  rain  by  the  roof  of  the  pavilion,  and  from  all  other  sources 
of  danger  the  two  slaves  that  had  been  his  faithful  and  devoted 
servants  from  his  earliest  youth  would  guard  him.  The  two 
servants  carried  his  cushions  down  into  the  garden,  and  Osman 
now  lay  there,  wrapped  in  his  silken  coverlet ;  the  two  slaves 
were  crouched  down  at  his  side.  They  were  still  there  when 
the  tschorbadji,  before  retiring  for  the  night,  came  down  to 
see  his  son  once  more  and  bid  him  good-night ;  and  there 
they  remained  until  all  the  lights  were  extinguished  in  the 
apartments  of  the  tschorbadji  as  well  as  in  those  of  the  pacha. 
Then,  when  all  had  become  still,  one  of  them  stooped  down 
and  addressed  his  master  in  low  tones  ;  after  they  had  carried 
on  a  short,  whispered  conversation  the  slave  arose  and  glided 
noiselessly  away  toward  the  garden-wall,  which  formed  no  ob- 
stacle to  his  progress — as  the  faithful  servant  could  climb  like 
a  cat — and  he  was  soon  on  the  other  side. 

Osman  remained  on  his  couch,  conversing  in  low  tones 
with  the  other  servant.  Both  were  attentively  observing  the 

(211) 


212  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

pacha's  harem,  and  it  surprised  them  to  see  that  lights  were 
being  carried  to  and  fro  in  the  lower  apartments  at  so  late  an 
hour. 

"  Something  extraordinary  is  surely  taking  place  there," 
murmured  Osman,  u  and  we  must  be  on  our  guard,  and  listen 
to  the  slightest  noise." 

Hours  passed,  and  the  same  activity  was  still  being  dis- 
played in  the  harem  ;  and  from  time  to  time  the  attentive  serv- 
ant perceived  shadows  flitting  up  and  down  the  avenue  that 
led  to  the  harem. 

Foosteps  are  now  heard  approaching.  It  is  the  slave  Na- 
deg,  and  he  comes  swiftly  to  his  master's  couch,  kneels  down 
and  speaks  to  him  for  some  time  in  low,  earnest  tones.  Osman 
rises  from  his  cushions. 

"  The  time  has  come,  we  must  warn  him,  we  must  help  him  ! 
Be  quick,  both  of  you  ! — Jabad,  hasten  to  the  summit  of  the 
rock.  Here,  take  the  pistol  and  give  the  signal  agreed  upon, 
three  shots  fired  at  short  intervals.  — But  you,  Nadeg,  hasten 
down  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  again,  and  when,  aroused  by 
my  shots,  my  friend  comes  out,  call  him,  tell  him  I  am  await- 
ing him,  and  bring  him  to  me  at  once.  Oh,  I  am  anxious 
on  his  account :  be  quick,  that  you  may  get  there  in 
time  ! " 

The  two  walk  stealthily  and  rapidly  down  the  garden-path. 
Osman  listens  to  their  retreating  footsteps,  and,  as  they  die 
away  in  the  distance,  he  draws  a  breath  of  relief.  They  are 
good,  zealous  servants,  and  will  obey  his  instructions  faith- 
fully. He  listens  again  eagerly,  and  again  looks  over  toward 
the  harem,  where  he  sees  the  lights  still'  flitting  about  and 
shadows  passing  the  windows. 

Osman's  heart  tells  him  that  something  unusual,  something 
that  bodes  no  good  to  his  friend,  is  going  on  there,  and  his 
love  gives  strength  to  his  poor,  weak  body.  He  rises  from  his 
cushions  ;  his  limbs  are  stiff,  and  his  breast  pains  him,  but  he 
is  heedless  of  this.  Cautiously  he  descends  the  steps  into  the 
garden,  and  walks  noiselessly  down  the  pathway.  He  knows 
that  a  high  hedge  separates  the  garden  of  the  harem  from  the 
rest  of  the  park  at  the  end  of  this  path.  Hitherto  all  have  re- 
spected this  boundary,  and  no  one  has  dared  to  cross  it ;  may 


REVENGE.  213 

the  good  spirits  pardon  the  young  man  for  venturing  to  do  so 
now  !  He  is  in  the  garden  of  the  harem.  It  is  certainly  dan- 
gerous to  enter  it,  and,  if  the  eunuchs  should  discover  him 
there,  they  would  seize  him.  But,  fortunately,  he  is  the  tschor- 
badji's  son,  and  that  will  protect  him.  He  is  on  his  father's 
property.  He  walks  onward,  no  longer  painfully  ;  he  no 
longer  feels  that  his  breast  hurts  him  ;  he  is  only  thinking  of 
his  friend  ;  he  can  perhaps  discover  something  for  him,  perhaps 
do  something  for  him.  He  now  stands  still  and  listens.  In 
the  distance  he  hears  the  reports  of  the  pistol. 

"  Ah,  Mohammed  is  warned  !  He  has  been  aroused  from 
his  sweet  repose,  and  will  come  to  me. " 

But  he  must  know  what  all  this  disturbance  and  running 
about  means.  Osman  has  approached  close  to  the  harem,  and 
stands  at  the  iron  gate  that  opens  into  the  court-yard.  He 
stands  there  for  a  moment  and  listens,  and  then  crosses  the 
court-yard  and  looks  toward  the  door  in  the  wall  that  opens 
into  the  street.  All  is  still  in  the  house,  as  in  the  yard  ;  but 
now  he  hears  a  noise  at  the  door  that  opens  into  the  vestibule 
of  the  building.  It  is  opened,  and  two  dark  figures  appear, 
and  descend  the  steps  into  the  yard.  They  are  carrying  some- 
thing ;  it  looks  like  a  cot ;  it  is  a  cot  covered  with  white 
sheets,  but  it  is  empty.  They  carry  it  across  the  yard,  and  out 
into  the  street. 

He  hears  them  lock  the  door  from  the  outside  ;  hears  the 
murmuring  of  voices,  and  then  all  is  again  quiet.  What  was 
the  cot  intended  for  ?  What  could  it  all  mean  ? 

He  listens,  and  looks  around  anxiously  ;  but  all  is  still. 
Perhaps  his  care  and  anxiety  have  been  groundless  ;  perhaps 
these  are  only  things  the  servants  are  carrying  to  the  ship  to 
prepare  for  Cousrouf's  departure  on  the  morrow. 

He  again  listens  awhile,  and  then  returns  through  the  gar- 
den to  the  pavilion.  Wearily  he  throws  himself  on  his  cush- 
ions, and  lies  there,  for  a  moment,  with  closed  eyes. 

Now  he  hears  footsteps  approaching.  Who  can  it  be  ?  he 
asks  in  a  low  voice,  and  the  two  servants  emerge  from  the 
darkness,  come  to  his  side,  and  whisper  something  in  his  ear. 
Osman  draws  a  breath  of  relief. 

(k  Allah  be  praised,  he  is  coming,  he  is  saved  ! " 


21i  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

Yes,  other  footsteps  are  now  rapidly  approaching,  and,  in 
a  moment,  Mohammed  is  at  his  friend's  side. 

"  You  called  me,  my  friend,  and  here  I  am  !  What  has 
happened  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Mohammed.  It  seems  to  be  nothing,  and 
yet  my  heart  was  filled  with  care  and  anxiety  on  your  ac- 
count, and  I  could  not  resist  the  inclination  to  call  you.  Lis- 
ten :  Nadeg  was  among  the  cliffs  not  far  from  the  entrance  of 
your  cave,  to  which  you  came  late  at  night.  He  was  standing 
guard  there,  but  he  was  not  alone." 

"  He  was  not  alone  ?  What  does  that  mean  ? "  asked  Mo- 
hammed, in  dismay. 

"  Not  alone  ;  for  in  the  vicinity,  hidden  in  the  shadow  of  a 
rock,  stood  two  dark  figures,  and  he  heard  them  whispering 
and  telling  each  other  that  you  were  there,  and  that  they  were 
now  sure  of  their  prey.  When  Nadeg  had  heard  this,  he  re- 
turned hastily  to  me,  and  told  me  of  it.  I  then  sent  both  serv- 
ants out,  the  one  to  stand  guard  near  the  cave,  the  other  to 
the  summit  of  the  rock  to  fire  the  pistol,  and  give  the  warn- 
ing signal.  Nadeg  found  the  two  men  still  near  the  cave,  ly- 
ing in  wait  like  panthers,  and  he  saw  that  they  were  gradually 
creeping  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  cave.  In  the  meanwhile,  I 
had  gone  into  the  harem-garden,  where  I  saw  two  eunuchs 
carry  a  cot  out  into  the  street.  Now  you  know  all,  and  now 
it  seems  to  me  that  all  is  well.  I  was  anxious  on  your  ac- 
count, fearing  these  men,  who  were  lying  in  wait,  might  at- 
tack and  kill  you.  This  was  why  I  sent  ray  servants  out. 
But  now  I  am  happy,  for  you  are  safe,  and  with  me.  I  beg 
you  to  stay  with  me  until  to-morrow  ;  stay  here,  that  every 
one  may  know  where  you  have  passed  the  night.  Do  not  re- 
fuse me.  This  is  the  last  night  of  danger  and  anxiety.  Cous- 
rouf  departs  to-morrow,  and  then  you  will  be  safe." 

"  No,  Osman,  no,  it  is  impossible  ! "  said  Mohammed,  who 
could  not  himself  account  for  the  anxiety  that  made  his  heart 
throb  so  wildly.  "  I  thank  you  for  your  warning,  and  beg  you 
to  let  me  have  your  pistol.  Is  it  loaded  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nadeg.     "  I  loaded  it  again  after  firing." 

"  Yes,  give  it  to  him  ! — If  you  will  not  remain,  Moham- 
med, take  the  weapon,  and,  if  I  hear  a  shot,  I  shall  know  you 


REVENGE.  215 

are  attacked  and  in  danger  ;  then  I  will  wake  my  father,  and 
beg  him  to  send  the  soldiers  to  your  assistance.  But  stay  with 
me  yet  awhile,  my  friend  ! " 

"  No,  Osman,  I  can  remain  no  longer.  I  must  be  off  !  My 
heart  is  filled  with  a  sense  of  impending  evil,  with  gloomy 
forebodings." 

"  Then  go,  Mohammed,  and  may  Allah  bless  and  protect 
you  !  Oh,  that  this  fearful  night  were  at  an  end  ! " 

Mohammed  hastens  away  down  the  garden  path,  and  soon 
disappears  in  the  darkness. 

u  Stay  with  me,  you  good,  faithful  servants.  Oh,  how  anx- 
ious I  am,  how  wildly  my  heart  beats  !  Yet  I  do  not  fear 
for  myself,  but  for  my  dear  friend  Mohammed.  Pray  to  Al- 
lah for  grace  and  mercy  !  Yes,  let  us  all  pray  to  Allah  ! " 

Mohammed  rushes  on  through  the  night,  down  the  stone 
stairway.  He  flies  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  from  rock  to 
rock.  Now  he  is  down  by  the  cave.  He  looks  behind  him 
once  more.  There  is  nothing  to  be  seen,  nowhere  a  human 
figure.  Nothing  !  Osman  must  have  been  mistaken  ;  no  one 
observed  him,  no  one  was  there  !  He  creeps  through  the  fis- 
sure in  the  cliff,  to  the  inner  grotto  to  the  place  where  the  pas- 
sage becomes  narrow,  and  where  Masa  was  to  have  rolled  the 
stone  before  the  opening.  He  feels  for  this  stone  to  push  it 
back.  But  what  does  this  mean  ?  The  stone  is  no  longer 
there,  the  cave  is  open  ! 

He  recoils  for  a  moment  with  terror.  He  then  resolutely 
creeps  on  through  the  opening.  Masa  must  have  forgotten  it, 
that  is  all !  He  calls  her — no  answer. 

But  he  had  told  her  to  retire  into  the  second  grotto,  and 
await  him  there.  There  she  will  be,  there  she  must  be. 

"  Masa,  where  are  you  ?    Masa,  my  white  dove,  Masa  ! " 

All  is  still  ;  no  answer  comes,  no  voice  replies  in  tender 
greeting  to  his  anxious  and  repeated  call. 

"  Masa  !  where  are  you,  Masa  ? " 

The  silence  is  profound.  He  utters  a  cry  that  resounds 
fearfully  through  the  cave.  He  gropes  about  in  the  darkness. 
Then  he  turns  again,  and  cries  out  loudly,  but  all  is  still  as  be- 
fore. He  goes  back  to  the  passage,  and  into  the  first  grotto, 
the  one  with  the  large  opening  in  the  roof,  to  the  place  where 


218  MOIIAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

the  sky  can  be  seen.  The  clouds  have  disappeared,  and  the 
moon  sheds  its  soft  light  into  the  cave. 

"  Masa,  are  you  asleep  ?  "  he  cries,  as  he  kneels  down  be- 
side the  cushions. 

But  they  are  empty,  and  things  are  thrown  about  in  disor- 
der in  the  grotto.  The  moonlight  shines  brightly  in  the  cave, 
and  shows  that  a  terrible  struggle  has  taken  place  here.  The 
carpets  and  cushions  are  thrown  together  confusedly  ;  frag- 
ments of  broken  cups  and  saucers  strew  the  ground,  and 
every  thing  is  overturned.  At  last  he  must  recognize  the 
fact.  Masa  is  gone,  he  has  been  robbed  of  his  Masa. 

He  sinks  down  upon  the  earth  and  cries  in  loud,  heart- 
rending tones  :  "  Masa  is  gone  ;  the  slave-dealer  has  recovered 
his  slave.  Oh,  horror,  Masa  is  gone  ! "  He  springs  to  his 
feet,  and  rushes  toward  the  entrance  ;  then  he  stands  still 
again,  and  cries  in  piercing  tones  that  make  the  rocks  rever- 
berate :  "  Masa,  where  are  you  ? "  No  answer.  It  was  thus 
that  her  father  had  cried  out  a  few  days  before  :  "  Masa,  where 
are  you  ? " 

Punishment  has  overtaken  the  undutiful  daughter,  and 
him  who  had  harbored  her. 

"  Masa,  where  are  you  ? "  For  the  second  time,  the  ago- 
nized voice  of  love  resounded  through  the  cave.  Masa  is  gone. 

Ah,  where  can  she  be  ?  All  is  still.  A  struggle  has  taken 
place  here.  Hired  assassins,  perhaps  robbers,  have  broken  in- 
to this  paradise  here  beneath  the  earth  that  he  considered  so 
secure.  But  nothing  is  secure  from  man  ;  cruel  men  have 
broken  into  his  sanctuary  and  desecrated  his  paradise. 

He  no  longer  groans  and  laments.  He  raises  his  clinched 
fists,  and  swears  by  Allah  that  he  will  be  revenged  on  the  rob- 
bers and  murderers  of  his  Masa.  Suddenly  he  is  seized  from 
behind,  two  arms  encircle  him  like  iron  rings,  and  bind  his 
arms  to  his  side.  Another  hand  seizes  the  pistol  he  carries  in 
his  girdle,  and  draws  his  sword  from  his  scabbard.  Moham- 
med opens  his  lips  to  cry  out.  but  a  hand  is  laid  on  them,  and 
he  is  incapable  of  uttering  a  single  tone. 

"It  would  be  vain  to  cry  out,  Mohammed  Ali,  young  bou- 
louk  bashi.  No  one  can  hear  you  but  we,  and  we  are  indiffer- 
ent to  your  cries. — Be  quick,  Aga,  put  the  gag  in  his  mouth 


REVENGE.  217 

and  bind  the  cloth  over  it.  Let  us  finish  our  work  !  Day  is 
breaking,  and  it  must  be  done  quickly  !  Our  master's  orders 
were  to  do  it  quickly." 

Mohammed  is  securely  bound  and  motionless.  He  is  now 
a  mere  package  borne  along  by  the  eunuchs,  but  a  package 
that  thinks,  feels,  and  suffers.  His  eyes  are  wide  open,  and 
stare  up  at  his  enemies  with  a  fearful  expression.  He  knows 
he  cannot  pierce  them  through  with  his  eyes,  for  they  are  not 
daggers,  and  his  hands  are  bound.  But  he  swears  that  he  will 
have  vengeance  on  his  enemies,  either  above,  before  Allah's 
throne,  or  here  on  earth  already,  if  he  is  permitted  to  live. 
He  has  no  fear  for  himself,  for  his  own  life.  For  that  he 
cares  not.  He  cares  only  for  Masa,  he  thinks  only  of  her.  and 
his  roving  glance  seeks  her  anxiously. 

He  is  being  borne  to  the  sea-shore.  Do  they  intend  to  cast 
him  into  the  waves  ?  Let  it  be  so.  Death  is  sweet,  divine, 
when  one  has  lost  all  on  earth.  And  he  feels  that  all,  that 
his  Masa,  is  lost. 

If  she  is  lost  to  him,  what  further  need  of  the  stars  in 
heaven,  of  the  moonlight,  of  the  bright  sunshine  ?  Then  all 
is  darkness  and  desolation.  Will  they  kill  him  ?  Will  they 
cast  him  into  the  sea  ? 

The  waves  will  murmuringly  receive  him,  and  consign  him 
to  their  depths.  There  he  will  rest  tranquilly.  They  have 
now  reached  the  beach,  and  the  eunuchs  lay  him  down  on  the 
sand  ;  not  carelessly  as  a  package  is  thrown  down,  but  cau- 
tiously and  gently. 

"  Remember,  Aga,"  murmured  one  to  the  other.  "  that  we 
have  orders  not  to  injure  a  hair  of  his  head,  or  to  cause  him 
the  slightest  pain.  We  will  lay  him  down  here,  here  he  can 
rest  easily,  and  can  raise  his  head  and  see.  The  eyes  of  the 
young  boulouk  bashi,  accustomed  as  they  are  to  the  dark,  will 
easily  be  able  to  detect  who  it  is  that  approaches  from  over 
there."  And  the  eunuch  raised  his  hand  and  pointed  toward 
the  path  that  led  to  Cavalla. 

Yes,  his  eyes  are  accustomed  to  the  dark,  and  he  does  see 
figures  advancing  from  that  direction.     Not  one  or  two,  but  a 
crowd  of  figures  are  approaching,  and  in  their  midst  he  sees 
something  white,  that  is  being  borne  along  by  others. 
15 


218  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

For  a  moment  his  heart  stands  still  with  horror,  and  then 
beats  again  with  redoubled  violence. 

The  procession  comes  nearer  and  nearer.  Now  he  hears  a 
low,  wailing  voice.  It  is  she,  he  recognizes  Masa's  voice. 
And  alas  !  he  can  utter  no  tone,  he  cannot  rise  and  fly  to  her 
assistance.  His  mouth  is  gagged,  his  hands  and  feet  are  se- 
curely bound.  There  he  lies  perfectly  helpless  ;  he  can  do 
nothing  but  swear  vengeance  to  himself.  Oh,  he  cannot  ut- 
ter a  single  word  to  tell  that  he  is  there,  and  that  he  shares 
her  grief  and  anguish. 

They  have  now  come  close  to  him.  Mohammed  sees  them 
deposit  a  cot  on  the  ground.  He  sees  a  white  veiled  tigure  ly- 
ing motionless  on  this  cot.  He  also  sees  and  recognizes  the 
haughty  man  who  now  comes  to  the  side  of  the  cot.  It  is 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  his  hated  and  now  dreaded  enemy.  Alas  ! 
he  is  now  in  his  power.  The  young  lion  lies  bound  at  the 
panther's  feet ;  he  is  helpless  and  must  submit  to  all. 

Cousrouf  commands  the  eunuchs,  who  had  stood  still 
awaiting  his  orders,  to  retire  after  first  placing  the  cot  a  little 
nearer  to  the  sea. 

They  noiselessly  do  as  directed,  and  then  retire.  Now 
they  are  alone — Cousrouf  Pacha  and  the  two  bound,  helpless 
creatures. 

A  few  rosy  little  clouds  have  appeared  in  the  east,  it  is 
growing  lighter,  and  the  dark  mantle  of  night  is  being  lifted. 
The  sea  is  beginning  to  swell  with  the  breath  of  morning,  and 
to  caress  the  beach,  and  murmur  at  the  feet  of  the  fettered 
man.  He  looks  neither  at  the  sea  beneath,  nor  at  the  heavens 
above.  He  gazes  up  with  flaming  eyes  at  him  who  stands  com- 
posedly by  his  side,  looking  down  upon  him  contemptuously. 

"  Mohammed,  you  have  a  friend  who  loves  you  well,  and 
this  friend  was  too  shrewd  for  me.  I  had  sworn  with  the 
triple  oath  that  I  would  grant  the  request  he  should  ask  of  me. 
He  asked  for  your  life  and  your  safety." 

A  low  groan  escaped  the  breast  of  the  bound  man. 
Though  he  could  not  denounce  his  enemy  in  words,  he  could 
nevertheless  give  expression  to  the  curse  that  burned  in  his 
heart  in  the  proud,  fierce  glance  of  his  eye.  But  he  must  bear 
his  enemy's  scornful  words  and  smiles  in  silence. 


REVENGE.  219 

"  I  gave  my  word  that  you  should  suffer  no  bodily  injury, 
and  I  will  keep  it.  But  you  shall  see  how  Cousrouf  Pacha 
punishes  where  no  oath  binds  him,  and  how  he  avenges  him- 
self on  those  who  dare  to  defy  him  and  his  authointy.  Yes, 
you  shall  see,  and  shall  carry  with  you  throughout  life  the  re- 
membrance of  what  you  have  seen.  Thus  Cousrouf  avenges 
himself  on  you.  Now  look  and  hear.  Incline  your  head  a 
little,  and  look  down  at  that  cot  on  which  the  white  figure 
lies." 

Oh,  why  is  the  sun  so  cruel  as  to  begin  to  shed  its  light 
around  them,  and  illumine  this  figure,  that  the  poor  bound 
man  may  see  it  distinctly  ! 

It  is  she,  it  is  Masa  !  So  near  and  yet  so  far,  so  widely, 
eternally  separated  from  him.  No  longer  can  they  grasp 
hands  or  exchange  vows  of  undying  love.  A  grave  lies  be- 
tween, a  fearful,  impassable  barrier.  That  they  both  know. 
For  they  know  the  law — the  law  of  the  land  that  permits  the 
master  to  punish  the  slave  he  has  purchased.  Yes,  to  punish 
her  according  to  the  law  if  he  finds  her  unfaithful.  She  is 
tied  up  in  a  sack  and  cast  into  the  sea,  that  no  mound  may 
designate  the  spot  where  a  poor  traitoress  has  found  her  place 
of  burial ;  that  she  may  disappear  from  the  world  untalked  of 
and  unnoticed. 

Cousrouf  stands  haughtily  erect  beside  the  cot  on  which  the 
white  figure  lies. 

"  Masa,  daughter  of  the  Sheik  of  Praousta,  confess  that  you 
are  rightfully  and  according  to  the  law  my  slave.  I  paid  you 
the  purchase-money,  and  you  accepted  it.  I  \vas  gracious,  and 
granted  your  request  that  you  might  pass  the  day  with  your 
father.  I  was  a  fool,  and  trusted  to  human  faith.  Because 
you  swore  by  the  spirit  of  your  mother  and  by  Allah,  and  all 
you  held  sacred,  that  you  would  return  to  me  in  the  evening, 
as  it  beseemed  a  purchased  slave,  to  my  harem,  where  the  eu- 
nuchs awaited  you.  I  granted  you  this  delay  out  of  kindness. 
You  mocked  at  my  mercy  and  scorned  my  kindness.  You 
broke  your  oath.  And  you  fled  from  your  master  with  this 
boy  in  shameless  infidelity." 

He  paused  and  looked  down  at  the  white  figure,  as  if  ex- 
pecting an  answer,  although  he  knew  that  Masa,  too,  had  been 


220  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

gagged  in  order  that  no  cry  for  help  might  escape  her  pale 
lips.  They  are  both  bound.  The  same  fate  has  overtaken 
both,  and  they  must  bear  it  in  silence.  Their  fearful  anguish 
can  find  no  utterance. 

"  Masa,  I  repeat  what  I  said  before.  Repent  and  attempt 
to  repair  the  wrong  you  have  done  ;  show  your  master  that 
you  will  belong  to  him  in  love  ;  show  this,  as  he  requires  it  of 
you.  Go  with  me  voluntarily  to  the  sheik,  your  father,  to- 
morrow, and  say  to  him  :  '  Cousrouf  Pacha  has  purchased  me, 
and  I  vyill  follow  him  out  into  the  world,  of  my  own  free  will 
and  love.'  Say  this  to  the  boy,  too,  who  lies  there  ;  tell  him 
that  henceforth  you  will  be  your  master's  faithful  slave,  and 
will  serve  him  in  love  and  joyousness.  Do  this,  Masa,  and  I 
will  pardon  you  for  the  sake  of  your  youth  and  beauty,  and 
because  my  heart  prompts  me  to  do  so.  Raise  your  hand 
three  times  in  token  of  your  assent,  and,  I  repeat,  I  will  for- 
give you.  Yet  your  repentance  must  be  public.  I  demand 
this  in  justice  to  myself,  and  on  account  of  that  proud  boy, 
that  he  may  receive  his  punishment  through  you.  Now,  an- 
swer !  Give  the  sign  !  " 

He  pauses  and  waits.  Nothing  breaks  in  upon  the  stillness 
but  the  murmuring  of  the  waves  upon  the  shore. 

The  two  unhappy  creatures  cannot  pour  out  their  anguish 
in  each  other's  ears,  or  exchange  their  vows  of  undying  love. 
And  yet  for  a  moment  they  are  blessed,  for  their  hearts  un- 
derstand each  other,  and  their  souls  are  filled  for  an  instant 
with  ineffable  love  and  happiness  and  anguish. 

Mohammed  knows  that  Masa  refuses  what  the  haughty 
man  requires  of  her.  Mohammed  knows  that  Masa  prefers 
death  to  life  at  the  side  of  another  man,  and  he  feels  some 
consolation  in  his  heart  at  the  thought  that  she  is  there,  and 
that  her  death  is  but  the  manifestation  of  the  immortality  of 
her  love. 

He  is  the  witness  of  her  death  and  of  her  fidelity,  and  this 
soothes  his  anguish.  Ah  !  it  is  sweet  to  die  under  the  glance 
of  love,  heavenly  and  blissful  to  sink  into  the  grave  with  gaze 
fixed  on  the  countenance  of  the  beloved  one,  heart  commun- 
ing with  heart,  though  lips  can  find  no  utterance.  It  is  a 
grand  and  elevating  sight  to  him  who  loves  to  behold  so  faith- 


REVENGE.  221 

ful  and  heroic  a  death.  After  long  years  have  elapsed,  Mo- 
hammed will  still  think  of  this  hour  when  Masa  stood  firm 
and  immovable  in  her  vows,  nobly  and  disdainfully  rejecting 
life. 

Blessed  be  the  love  that  is  strong-  even  unto  death  !  Blessed 
be  death  when  such  a  spirit  hovers  over  and  consecrates  it. 

A  long  pause.  And  Cousrouf  Pacha  speaks  again  in 
harder  and  more  imperious  tones  than  before  : 

''Kaise  your  hand,  Masa,  and  give  the  sign  I  require." 

Masa  remains  motionless.  Death  awaits  her  ;  she  knows 
this,  and  is  glad.  Oh,  that  her  face  were  not  veiled  !  Moham- 
med might  then  read  her  love  in  her  eyes — in  these  stars  fall- 
en from  heaven,  as  he  had  called  them  a  few  short  hours  be- 
fore. 

"  Masa,  give  the  sign  ;  this  is  your  last  opportunity." 

She  does  not  move. 

"  Then  I  curse  you,  and  you  die  !  You  have  pronounced 
judgment  on  yourself  ! — Here,  ye  slaves  !  " 

They  nutter  to  his  side  like  the  ravens  of  the  night,  greedily 
seeking  their  prey. 

"  Take  hold  of  her  and  tie  her  up  in  the  sack." 

Mohammed's  hands  and  feet  are  bound,  and  he  cannot  rise, 
but  he  can  lift  his  head  and  gaze  at  the  dread  deed  that  is 
being  done,  and  he  does  so.  Yes,  he  sees  his  white  dove  dis- 
appear in  the  sack  in  the  black  grave  that  is  closed  over 
her. 

"  Thus  are  unfaithful  slaves  punished  ;  and  thus  the  law 
allows  and  commands.  Tie  the  mouth  of  the  sack  securely. 
Is  it  done  ?  Is  the  boat  ready  ? " 

They  murmur  that  all  is  in  readiness. 

"  Good  !  Eow  her  out  on  the  water.  Yet  not  too  far,  in 
order  that  this  boy  may  see  what  takes  place." 

He  must  bear  it,  and  look  on  while  the  black  ravens  drag 
his  white  dove  down  to  the  shore,  and  cast  the  living  burden 
into  the  boat. 

They  row  with  rapid  strokes  from  the  shore,  but  not  far 
out,  for  they  know  the  sea  is  deep  at  this  place,  and  that  it 
greedily  swallows  all  that  is  confided  to  it.  To  the  rope  with 
which  the  mouth  of  the  sack  is  tied  up  they  have  secured  two 


MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

heavy  iron  balls,  that  it  may  sink  rapidly  into  the  deep.  They 
stop. 

"  Take  in  the  oars  !  Now  lift  the  sack  ;  cast  it  into  the 
sea  ! " 

The  waves  receive  their  prey,  and  the  water  foams  and  ed- 
dies for  a  moment  over  the  place  where  it  went  down.  All  is 
still  again.  The  hoat  is  turned  and  rowed  back  to  the  shore. 

Cousrouf  Pacha  has  stood  there,  composedly  gazing  at  this 
fearful,  horrible  burial.  Now  he  steps  to  the  side  of  the  poor, 
bound  man,  and  takes  leave  of  him  in  cruel,  mocking  words. 

Does  he  hear  them  ?  His  widely-opened  eyes  stare  out 
fixedly  upon  the  waters.  He  is  motionless,  no  quivering  mus- 
cle indicates  that  he  has  understood  the  pacha's  words  of 
triumph  and  mockery.  Cousrouf  turns  and  beckons  to  the 
slaves. 

"  Leave  him  lying  there  !  He  will  be  found  in  the  morn- 
ing, for  he  will  be  looked  for.  Nothing  has  been  done  to  him, 
and  I  have  kept  my  word.  Now  let  us  go  ;  the  ship  is  ready 
to  sail,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  gracious  master,  all  is  in  readiness,"  replied  the 
eunuchs. 

He  turns  and  walks  off  toward  Cavalla.  An  hour  later, 
Cousrouf  Pacha  leaves  the  governor's  house,  and  leaves  it  to 
return  no  more. 

His  harem  had  been  conveyed  to  the  ship  before  the  morn- 
ing dawned  ;  and  all  his  treasure  and  baggage  had  been 
packed,  and  taken  on  board  the  day  before.  All  is  in  readi- 
ness to  weigh  the  anchor  and  sail  as  soon  as  the  pacha  shall 
have  come  on  board. 

Cousrouf  Pacha  walks  proudly  down  toward  the  harbor, 
at  his  side  the  governor,  who  insists  on  accompanying  his 
honored  guest  to  the  shore.  The  servants  in  gold-embroid- 
ei-ed  liveries,  and  the  slaves,  follow  his  excellency. 

And,  gayly  smiling,  Cousrouf  chats  with  the  governor  all 
the  way  down  to  the  shore,  grasps  his  hand  in  parting,  and 
thanks  him  for  his  hospitality.  He  then  enters  the  boat 
covered  with  costly  carpets  that  is  to  convey  him  to  the  ship. 

The  tschorbadji  stands  on  the  shore  gazing  after  him, 
vainly  endeavoring  to  display  a  sorrowful  countenance,  and 


REVENGE.  223 

repress  all  evidence  of  gladness  that  fills  his  heart  at  the 
thought  that,  after  long  years,  the  haughty  pacha,  who  entered 
his  house  as  master,  has  at  last  departed.  Ah,  it  will  he  de- 
lightful to  be  able  to  walk  in  the  park  and  garden,  with  his 
Osman,  without  the  fear  of  meeting  his  proud  guest. 

Hastily  the  tschorbadji  returns  to  Cavalla,  to  his  son  who 
is  still  reclining  in  the  garden  house,  and  relates  that  Cous- 
rouf  has  departed,  and  that  he  has  sent  his  dear  Osman  the 
kindest  greetings,  and  the  best  wishes  for  his  welfare. 

Osman  listens  with  an  air  of  indifference  and  anxiety,  and 
his  father  regards  him  with  dismay. 

''  Osman,  what  is  the  matter,  what  is  it  that  grieves 
you  ? " 

"  Father,  I  must  say  it.  Something  fearful  has  taken  place 
this  night ! " 

"  What  can  have  happened,  Osman  ?  Tranquillize  your- 
self !  You  are  trembling  !  What  has  occurred  ? " 

"  Father,  I  do  not  know  as  yet ;  I  have  been  listening  for 
the  shot  Mohammed  was  to  fire.  I  have  not  yet  heard  it,  and 
yet  I  feel  that  some  misfortune  has  happened  to  him,  and  that 
something  dreadful  has  taken  place." 

"  But  what  can  have  happened  to  Mohammed  ? " 

"  I  cannot  speak  of  it  now,  and  I  am  a  poor,  unhappy  he- 
ing,  whose  feet  are  too  weak  to  bear  him.  I  pray  you  go 
down  to  Praousta  yourself.  Oh,  go  to  the  cliffs,  father,  go  to 
the  caves  and  openings  in  the  rock  !  Take  the  servants  with 
you  !  I  conjure  you,  father,  do  not  delay  a  moment  !  " 

He  could  speak  no  further,  and  the  tschorbadji  saw,  with 
dismay,  that  his  son's  face  was  deathly  pale. 

"  Be  courageous,  my  Osman  !  It  shall  be  as  you  say.  I 
will  call  the  servants.  See,  I  am  already  going  ! " 

He  hastily  left  the  palace  with  his  servants.  All  is  still 
quiet  in  Praousta — the  walk  among  the  cliffs,  and  down  to  the 
shore.  Then  suddenly — 

"  What  is  that  on  the  beach  ?  O  Allah,  the  merciful !  Is 
that  not  a  dead  body  ?  Is  it  not  Mohammed  ?  Bound  and 
gagged  !  He  does  not  move  !  Quick,  cut  the  ropes,  take  the 
gag  out  of  his  mouth  !  " 

This  is  speedily  done,  but  still  Mohammed  does  not  move. 


MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  There  are  no  wounds  to  be  seen  on  his  per- 
son !  No,  not  dead,  he  is  only  insensible.  Bring  water,  wet 
his  temples,  cool  his  forehead  ! " 

Allah  be  praised  !  He  moves,  he  lives  !  Yes,  he  lives,  and 
he  bounds  suddenly  to  his  feet,  and  he  gazes  around  with  the 
expression  not  of  a  man,  but  of  a  tiger.  He  then  utters  a  cry 
so  fearful,  so  terrible  a  cry,  that  the  tschorbadji's  heart  is  filled 
with  anxiety  and  compassion. 

With  outstretched  arms,  Mohammed  walks  down  to  the 
verge  of  the  sea. 

The  servants  rush  after  him,  and  endeavor  to  hold  him 
back.  He  clinches  his  fists  and  strikes  them,  but  they  grasp 
him  firmly,  and  at  last  succeed  in  overcoming  him. 

"  Mohammed,  compose  yourself  and  be  strong  ! "  said  the 
tschorbadji,  clasping  his  arms  about  him.  ''Friend  of  my 
son,  take  pity  on  me,  and  remember  that  Osman  dies  if  you 
die." 

He  shakes  his  head,  but  cannot  speak.  He  looks  at  the  sea, 
the  terrible  sea  !  His  eyes  stare  in  horror  at  the  place  where 
Masa  sank,  then  close,  and  he  falls  to  the  ground  insensible. 
The  servants  now  raise  him  in  their  arms,  and  carry  him  to 
the  governor's  house. 

His  countenance  deathly  pale,  Osman  stands  at  the  gate 
awaiting  them.  He  sees  the  sad  procession  approaching.  He 
knows  they  are  bringing  his  friend,  and,  hastening  forward  to 
meet  them,  he  receives  the  motionless  body,  hot,  glowing  tears 
pouring  from  his  eyes. 

Awakened  by  the  dew  of  his  friend's  falling  tears,  Moham- 
med opens  his  eyes  and  looks  up.  His  lips  part,  and  murmur 
softly,  "  Dead,  Masa  is  dead  !  " — nothing  more  ! 

The  whole  history  of  his  anguish  lies  in  the  words,  "  Dead, 
Masa  is  dead  ! " 


ALL   THINGS   PASS   AWAY.  225 

CHAPTER  II. 

ALL  THINGS  PASS  AWAY. 

TEN  years  had  passed  since  the  painful  event  that  had  con- 
signed the  daughter  of  the  sheik,  the  Flower  of  Praousta,  to  so 
early  a  grave,  and  caused  him  who  had  loved  her  a  long  and 
severe  illness. 

Ten  years  !  To  the  happy,  when  he  looks  back  at  them, 
they  are  but  a  few  days  of  sunshine,  the  contemplation  of 
which  delights  him,  and  the  memory  of  which  softens  his 
heart.  To  the  unhappy  they  are  as  a  cold,  desolate  eternity  of 
torment,  and  he  looks  back  with  reluctance  at  them,  and  the 
misery  he  has  endured,  measuring  the  days  of  anguish  that 
are  still  to  come. 

Ten  years  !  In  Cavalla  they  had  changed  nothing.  They 
had  only  left  their  handwriting  on  the  faces  of  those  who  had 
been  living  ten  years  before,  and  had  witnessed  those  painful 
events.  The  faces  of  men  had  changed,  but  the  sea  then,  as  at 
that  time,  shone  in  the  beauty  and  freshness  of  eternal  youth, 
and  still  surged  in  majesty  along  its  rock-bound  coast,  and 
over  the  deep,  the  unknown  grave  of  the  beautiful  Masa,  the 
forgotten  one. 

Yes,  the  forgotten  one  ! 

All  things  pass  away  ;  grief  as  well  as  joy  is  forgotten. 
The  years  roll  on  over  both,  like  the  waves  of  the  deep  over 
the  bodies  consigned  to  its  keeping. 

All  things  pass  away  !  Man  has  only  to  learn  and  to  wait 
in  patience.  No  matter  how  pain  may  rend  his  soul,  if  he  only 
knows  how  to  wait  in  patience,  the  balm  of  time  will  gradually 
heal  his  wounds  and  soothe  his  soul.  All  things  pass  away  ! 

To  be  sure  there  are  hopeless  and  weak  natures  who  refuse 
to  wait  for  this  soothing  balm  of  time  ;  natures  which  destroy 
themselves  in  fiery  torture,  or  in  their  cowardly  weakness  are 
destroyed  by  the  dark  genius  of  despair. 

The  poor  sheik  had  not  been  able  to  bear  the  loss  of  his 
only  child,  his  Masa.  He  had  died  of  grief.  He  had  called 
for  his  Masa  with  his  last  breath. 


226  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

No  one  now  speaks  of  her.  The  young  girls  of  that  time 
have  now  become  mothers,  and  sometimes  tell  their  little  ones 
of  the  Flower  of  Praousta  and  her  death,  as  of  a  fairy  tale  of 
the  olden  time. 

It  has  become  a  fairy-tale,  and  has  been  written  in  verses 
which  the  fisher-boys  sing  when  they  go  out  upon  the  waves. 
They  have  almost  forgotten  that  only  ten  years  have  passed 
since  Masa's  death  ;  and  when  they  gaze  at  the  pale,  earnest 
face  of  Mohammed  Ali  as  he  passes  through  the  streets  of 
Cavalla  in  his  business  occupations,  they  scarcely  remember 
that  he  it  is  who  was  the  cause  of  her  death. 

Does  he  remember  it  himself  ? 

All  things  pass  away,  grief  and  joy  alike.  He  has  suffered 
much  since  those  days,  but  he  has  suffered  in  silence  ;  few 
know  that  he  loved  Masa,  and  these  few  have  considerately 
refrained  from  touching  the  wound  that  had  once  bled  in  his 
heart,  lest  it  might  not  yet  be  healed. 

When  found  on  the  sea-shore  that  morning  by  the  father 
of  his  friend  Osman,  Mohammed  Ali  was  taken  up  to  the  gov- 
ernor's house,  where  he  was  tenderly  cared  for. 

For  many  days  he  remained  entirely  unconscious  of  all 
that  was  going  on  around  him.  He  lay  there  coffined  in  his 
grief,  as  in  living  death.  They  cooled  his  feverish  brow,  and 
poured  strengthening  cordials  between  his  lips.  The  magi- 
cians and  sorcerers,  as  well  as  the  physicians  of  Cavalla  and 
the  neighboring  cities,  were  summoned  to  his  assistance  by  the 
tschorbadji  and  his  son.  But  neither  amulets  nor  talismans, 
neither  medicines  nor  herbs,  could  heal  the  wounds  which 
did  not  bleed,  or  cool  the  burning  pain  of  his  soul. 

He  lay  there  motionless,  his  eyes  gazing  fixedly  at  va- 
cancy, and  yet  they  constantly  saw  the  one  fearful  yet  bliss- 
ful picture,  the  Flower  of  Praousta,  the  white  dove,  as  she 
lay  there  in  the  early  dawn,  her  large  eyes  fixed  on  him  ten- 
derly ;  and  saw,  too,  the  fearful,  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
event.  As  the  dark  body  sank  beneath  the  waves,  a  shudder 
would  course  through  his  whole  being,  and  a  scarcely-audible 
cry  escape  his  lips.  The  ear  of  his  listening  friend  Osman 
would  catch  the  word  that  escaped  him,  and  this  word  was 
"  Revenge  !  revenge  ! " 


ALL   THINGS   PASS  AWAY.  227 

With  time  all  things  pass  away.  There  is  a  limit  to  the 
profoundest  pain,  to  the  profoundest  torpor.  One  day  Mo- 
hammed raised  his  hand  and  in  a  low  voice  called  for 
water. 

Consciousness  had  returned.  He  now  felt  the  torment  that 
glowed  in  his  soul.  When  a  man  has  become  conscious  of 
his  suffering,  there  is  a  possibility  of  relief. 

The  water  at  least  cooled  his  lips  ;  and  the  tender,  affection- 
ate words  of  his  friend,  and  the  tears  of  sympathy  that  fell 
upon  his  countenance,  at  last  cooled  the  fire  that  burned  in  his 
soul. 

Happy  is  he  who  can  impart  his  grief  to  others,  whom 
Fate  does  not  compel  to  confine  it  within  his  own  bosom,  and 
let  it  gnaw  at  his  vitals.  Happy  is  he  who  can  pour  out  the 
burden  of  his  sorrow  and  suffering  in  the  ear  of  a  friend  ! 
That  grief  of  which  one  can  speak  is  not  mortal. 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  grief  and  suffering  more  bit- 
ter than  that — it  is  deep,  like  the  grave.  Black  like  the  night 
is  the  grief  that  can  find  no  utterance,  that  is  chained  to  the 
heart  by  a  sense  of  duty. 

Are  such  the  grief  and  suffering  that  burden  the  breast  of 
the  pale  man  who  stands  there  on  the  shore  gazing  out  at  the 
sea  ?  Are  such  the  grief  and  suffering  that  sometimes  break 
in  upon  the  solitude  and  stillness  of  the  night  in  low  sobs  from 
the  lips  of  the  man  who,  but  ten  years  ago,  was  so  full  of  the 
courage,  energy,  and  joyousness  of  youth  ? 

Osman  had  not  nursed  his  friend  alone.  A  woman  had 
stood  at  his  side  ;  the  beautiful  Ada,  of  whom  Osman  some- 
times whispered  to  his  friend  that  she  loved  him. 

Upon  hearing  of  his  grief  and  illness,  Ada,  conscious  of  her 
love  only,  and  casting  aside  all  the  fetters  that  bound  her,  had 
left  her  husband's  house  and  came  to  the  palace  of  her  uncle, 
with  whom  she  was  a  great  favorite.  With  glowing  words 
she  told  him  that  she  would  never  return  to  the  house  of  her 
husband,  who  had  long  tormented  her  with  his  fierce  jealousy, 
because  he  well  knew  that  his  wife  did  not  love  him,  but 
loved  the  friend  of  his  relative,  young  Mohammed  Ali.  In 
the  strength  and  ardor  of  her  love,  she  had  not  cared  to  deny 
that  this  was  so,  and  firmly  declared  that  she  would  be  his 


228  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

alone  ;  and  therefore  had  she  come  up  to  the  palace  to  nurse 
and  wait  on  him  she  loved,  in  his  illness  and  distress. 

The  tschorbadji  did  not  oppose  her  wishes,  and  the  poor, 
delicate  youth  Osjnan  was  well  pleased  to  have  Ada's  assist- 
ance in  nursing  his  friend. 

She  had  been  at  his  bedside  constantly,  and  listened  eagerly 
to  the  words  that  fell  from  his  lips  in  the  delirium  of  his  fever. 
Ada  would  lie  on  her  knees  beside  him,  absorbed  in  those 
mysterious  outpourings  of  the  human  heart ;  listening  to  his 
descriptions  of  the  object  of  his  great  love,  of  his  Masa,  of  her 
fate,  and  hear  his  oaths  of  vengeance. 

After  the  days  of  fever,  and  of  the  outpourings  of  anguish, 
came  the  days  of  exhaustion  and  of  returning  consciousness. 
The  struggle  between  life  and  death  lasted  long,  but  life  was 
at  last  victorious. 

Mohammed  now  felt  his  weakness,  and  he  lay,  as  in  the 
beginning  of  his  illness,  for  many  a  day,  motionless,  on  his 
bed,  with  widely-opened  eyes,  staring  around  him. 

But  he  now  saw,  and  was  conscious  of  what  he  saw. 

He  saw  his  friend  Osman,  who  followed  his  every  move- 
ment with  tender  glances,  and  whose  countenance  shone  with 
delight  when  Mohammed  smiled  on  him,  and  told  him  with 
a  look  that  he  recognized  him,  and  knew  of  his  love.  He  saw, 
too,  the  veiled  woman,  who  flitted  about  him,  reading  his  every 
wish  in  his  face,  and  fulfilling  it  before  he  expressed  it.  It 
touched  his  heart  to  perceive  that  there  was  still  a  woman 
who  cared  for  him,  and  was  anxious  on  his  account.  He 
had  believed  himself  alone  in  the  wide  world,  and  there 
were  now  beside  him  two  beings  that  shared  his  sorrow, 
and  whose  hearts  beat  warmly  for  him.  This  was  written 
in  their  countenances  ;  this  their  busy,  anxious  movements 
betrayed. 

When  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  spoken  to,  Os- 
man told  him  of  Ada's  love,  of  her  grief  on  his  account,  of  her 
joy  in  being  permitted  to  nurse  him,  and  of  her  having  sepa- 
rated herself  from  the  past,  forsaking  all  else  to  serve  him  and 
him  alone. 

He  made  no  reply,  but  closed  his  eyes,  and  a  low  groan  es- 
caped his  lips. 


ALL  THINGS  PASS  AWAY.  2'29 

Poor  Ada  !  The  story  of  her  love  reminds  him  of  his  own, 
and  for  a  moment  the  old  wound  bleeds  afresh. 

Could  he  be  ungrateful  ?  Could  he  now  abandon  her  who 
had  forsaken  every  thing-  for  him  when  he  was  in  distress,  and 
needed  her  care  ?  Could  he  do  this  now,  when  strength  had 
returned  to  him,  now  that  he  was  able  to  walk  in  the  garden, 
supported  on  his  friend  Osman's  arm  ?  Could  he  forsake  her 
who  walked  beside  him,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  delight  at  his 
recovery  ? 

And  when  the  tschorbadji  came,  now  that  Mohammed  was 
strong  enough  to  occupy  himself  with  his  future  business  mat- 
ters, and  spoke  to  him  seriously,  and,  with  Ada's  consent,  for- 
mally proposed  his  marriage  with  his  niece,  in  order  that  her 
reputation  might  not  suffer,  and  that  she  might  regain  the 
position  she  had  lost  before  the  world  on  his  account,  could  he 
cowardly  decline,  and  excuse  himself  with  his  own  grief? 
Would  it  become  him  to  say,  "  Let  the  woman  who  has  loved 
me  live  in  disgrace  ! "  Could  he  do  this  ? 

No,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  cruel  in  him  to  act  thus  ;  and 
how  could  he  be  cruel,  he  who  had  suffered  so  much  from  the 
inhumanity  of  others  ? 

He  accepted  the  tschorbadji's  proposal.  He  went  to  Ada, 
who  awaited  him,  her  heart  throbbing  anxiously,  and  asked 
her  if  she  would  be  his  wife,  follow  him  to  his  house,  and  walk 
with  him  through  life  in  sorrow  and  in  joy. 

He  asked  this  question  in  a  sad,  low  voice,  and  Ada  knew 
what  lay  buried  in  the  depths  of  his  heart ;  but  she,  nevertbe- 
less,  accepted  his  offer,  and  consoled  herself  with  the  thought : 
"All  things  pass  away,  and  time  heals  all  wounds." 

She  became  his  wife,  and  brought  with  her  a  rich  dowry. 

He  had,  however,  made  no  inquiries  after  this  ;  did  not 
care  for  it ;  aad  did  not  rejoice  when,  on  the  morning  after 
the  wedding,  the  tschorbadji  took  his  arm  and  conducted  him 
to  one  of  the  largest  and  best  houses  in  the  main  street  of 
Cavalla.  He  showed  him  the  store  and  parlors,  and  led  him 
up  the  stone  stairway  into  the  apartments  of  the  harem,  that 
were  richly  furnished  and  adorned. 

Nor  did  he  smile  when,  on  descending  the  stairway,  Ada 
met  him,  and  begged  him,  in  her  gentle  voice,  to  accept  the 


230  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

house  and  all  it  contained  as  his  property,  as  a  love-offering 
from  her. 

He  thanked  her  with  many  kind  and  tender  words,  yet  Ada 
felt  that  the  wound  still  hurned  in  his  soul,  and  the  sad  tone 
of  his  voice  did  not  escape  her.  The  house  was  handsome, 
and  so  was  the  store.  The  advice  of  the  merchant  Lion  had 
been  taken  by  Ada,  and  the  tschorbadji  and  he  kindly  assisted 
in  arranging  every  thing  for  the  young  merchant  in  a  suit- 
able and  appropriate  manner.  Mohammed  was  not  to  deal,  like 
his  friend  Lion,  in  all  kinds  of  household  articles.  Lion  knew 
the  young  man  better  ;  he  knew  that  such  a  business  would 
not  suit  him,  and  that  his  lips  would  not  conform  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  using  complacent  words  and  flattery,  in  order  to 
dispose  of  his  wares.  The  merchant  had,  therefore,  advised 
Ada  and  the  tschorbadji  to  arrange  to  have  the  young  man 
embark  in  a  wholesale  business. 

The  tobacco  of  Macedonia  is  celebrated  far  and  wide,  and 
vessels  come  there  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  to  export  this 
article  and  distribute  it  throughout  the  world.  They  had, 
therefore,  made  Mohammed  proprietor  of  a  large  tobacco  ware- 
house, and  he  had  now  been  engaged  in  this  business  some  ten 
years,  and  had  become  a  wealthy  merchant.  The  people 
called  him  a  happy  man,  too,  and  perhaps  he  was,  for  Moham- 
med seemed  to  have  true  domestic  happiness  in  his  wife  and 
children  ;  he  conducted  no  second  wife  into  his  harem.  Ada 
was  his  only  wife,  and  the  sole  mistress  of  his  house. 

Yes,  he  was  certainly  happy  in  his  family  ;  three  sons  had 
been  born  to  him,  and  he  often  went  out  upon  the  sea  with 
them,  and  taught  them,  in  their  boats,  to  command  the  waves; 
he  also  taught  them  to  handle  the  gun.  and  other  manly  ac- 
complishments. But  he  never  took  the  boys  to  that  part  of 
the  shore  where  the  entrance  to  the  cave  lay  ;  and  the  foot  of 
man  has  never  entered  it  again  !  The  fissure  in  the  rocks  has 
disappeared,  covered  with  stones. 

No  one  saw  Mohammed  go  to  this  spot  on  the  evening  be- 
fore his  marriage  with  Ada.  No  one  saw  him,  as  with  the 
strength  of  a  giant  he  rolled  huge  stones  to  the  opening,  and 
piled  them  up  before  the  grotto.  Nor  did  any  one  see  him,  be- 
fore he  had  done  this,  enter  the  grotto  with  bowed  head  and 


ALL   THINGS   PASS  AWAY.  231 

folded  arms,  as  though,  approaching  the  holy  mosque.  Nor 
did  the  ear  of  man  hear  the  groans  and  lamentations  that  es- 
caped his  breast  as  he  lay  thereon  ;  the  spot  upon  which  the 
light  of  the  moon  and  stars  of  heaven  shone  down  through 
the  opening  above.  There  he  lay,  one  entire  night,  and  a 
whole  world  of  suffering  lay  on  his  soul  throughout  that 
night.  He  wished,  during  those  fearful  hours,  to  rend  from 
his  heart  the  remembrance  of  all  the  anguish  and  all  the  bliss 
associated  with  that  place  in  the  past.  Did  he  succeed  ?  Who 
knows,  who  can  tell  ? 

All  things  pass  away,  and  time  heals  all  wounds. 

Mohammed  is  a  wealthy  merchant,  the  husband  of  a  charm- 
ing, lovely  woman,  and  the  father  of  three  strong,  handsome 
boys,  who  look  out  boldly  and  defiantly  into  the  world  with 
their  dark  eyes,  the  picture  of  their  father  in  earlier  days. 

How  would  Sitta  Khadra  rejoice  could  she  see  these  boys  ! 

Would  she  also  rejoice  if  she  could  see  her  son  gravely 
and  silently  attending  to  his  duties,  speaking  with  the  men 
who  come  to  see  him,  of  tobacco,  of  good  harvests,  of  future 
prospects,  and  of  the  success  already  achieved  in  his  business  ? 

Of  other  matters  Mohammed  never  speaks,  not  even  to  his 
friend  Lion,  who  often  comes  to  see  him.  When  Mohammed 
needs  advice  at  times  in  his  affairs,  he  seeks  it  of  him  ;  he  lis- 
tens smilingly  when  Lion  tells  him  of  what  is  going  on  in  the 
world  ;  and,  without  letting  Mohammed  perceive  it,  attentively 
observes  him,  endeavoring  to  read,  in  his  grave,  tranquil 
countenance,  whether  new  feelings  are  awakening  in  his  soul, 
whether  the  young  merchant  has  really  buried  the  former 
ambition  of  the  youth. 

But  he  detects  nothing  in  that  tranquil  face  ;  ambition 
sleeps,  the  love  of  glory  is  dead  within  him.  This  is  Lion's 
opinion,  and  the  opinion  of  all.  But  it  is  not  the  opinion  of 
Osman,  who  understands  him  best.  He  has  sometimes  seen 
Mohammed's  face  lighten  when  the  conversation  was  of  the 
struggles  going  on  in  Egypt,  or  when  the  Turkish  fleet  was 
spoken  of  that  had  gone  over  to  chastise  the  rebellious  Mame- 
luke beys  !  He  had  seen  a  deathly  pallor  overspread  Moham- 
med's face  when  on  a  recent  occasion  a  merchant,  who  came 
from  Stamboul,  reported  that  the  grand-vizier  had  sent  a  great 


232  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

pacha  to  Egypt,  one  who  had  been  banished,  the  now  so 
mighty  Cousrouf  Pacha,  the  favorite  of  the  grand-admiral. 
Yes,  Osman  had  observed  his  change  of  countenance  at  the 
mention  of  this  name,  and  that  he  secretly  clinched  his  fists 
and  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  dagger  ;  and  he  alone  knew  that, 
though  Mohammed's  wrath  found  no  utterance,  it  still  lived 
within  him. 

Mohammed  had  suddenly  turned  away  on  this  occasion,  on 
some  suddenly-conceived  pretext,  and  had  not  been  seen  again 
that  day. 

He  had  gone  alone  to  the  summit  of  the  rock,  and  Osman 
alone  knew  that  the  dark  speck  which  he  saw  on  the  crest  of 
Bucephalus  was  the  figure  of  his  friend,  who  had  sought  this 
solitude  for  the  purpose,  perhaps,  of  easing  his  heart  of  its  an- 
guish and  to  enjoy  the  holy  festival  of  remembrance,  up 
there  alone  with  God  and  Nature  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  BIM  BASHI. 

MOHAMMED'S  countenance  was  graver  and  paler  than  usual 
when  he  came  down  from  Bucephalus.  But  it  seemed  that 
his  heart  had  there  received  milder  and  softer  impressions. 
He  spoke  to  his  wife  in  more  gentle  and  cordial  tones  ;  and 
instead  of  repairing,  as  was  his  custom,  to  a  coffee-house, 
where  merchants  assembled  and  exchanged  their  views  and 
opinions,  smoked  the  chibouque  together,  and  discussed  the 
news  received  from  foreign  countries,  he  remained  at  home  in 
the  family  circle.  At  his  request,  Osman  had  come  to  pass  the 
evening  with  them,  for  Mohammed  well  knew  that  this  was 
the  young  man's  only  happiness.  These  ten  years  did  not 
benefit  Osrnan's  health  ;  he  was  still  the  withered  stalk  that 
bows  its  head,  but  is  not  torn  down  by  the  wind,  but  only 
swayed  to  and  fro  by  it  at  its  pleasure. 

Yes,  Osman  was  weak,  and  firm  and  constant  in  one  thing 
only,  in  his  love  for  his  friend. 


THE   BIM  BASEL  233 

With  him  this  feeling  took  the  place  of  all  else  ;  Moham- 
med was  to  Osman  what  the  latter  was  to  his  father — his  only 
joy  in  life  !  And  for  these  two  Osman  sustained  himself,  bore 
his  ill  health  and  suffering,  and  let  the  sunlight  shine  upon, 
and  the  storms  of  life  sweep  over  him. 

Osman  understood  why  Mohammed  was  so  kind  and  genial 
to-day.  He  knew  that  the  day  had  its  significance,  and  that 
the  wound  bled  within  secretly  and  incessantly.  In  silence 
Mohammed  is  praying  for  forgiveness,  for  having  on  this  day 
permitted  his  thoughts  to  wander  back  to  the  past,  for  having 
sunk  down  in  sadness  upon  the  spot  on  the  brow  of  the  rock 
that  had  once  witnessed  his  happiness  ;  and  he  desires  to  be 
mild  and  gentle  to  his  family  this  evening.  His  wife  Ada  is 
thankful  and  very  happy.  Mohammed  so  rarely  laughs  and 
jests  with  her,  so  rarely  plays  with  the  boys  !  To  be  sure  he 
has  never  grieved  her,  has  always  been  kind  and  gentle,  and 
has  never  opposed  her  wishes.  But  yet  she  knows  she  has  no 
share  in  his  inmost  heart.  He  talks  with  her  of  the  daily  af- 
fairs of  life,  he  allows  her  to  participate  in  all  such  matters, 
but  he  never  speaks  to  her  of  his  heart's  inmost  thoughts,  and 
whether  he  suffers  and  longs  to  leave  these  desolate  cliffs,  or 
whether  he  is  discontented  with  the  monotonous,  matter-of- 
fact  life  he  is  leading — she  knows  not !  Mohammed  has  never 
complained  to  her,  neither  has  he  to  his  friend.  But  the  latter 
has  read  his  friend's  heart,  and  understands  it  better  than  Mo- 
hammed himself.  And  a  day  was  soon  to  come  which  proved 
this. 

A  message  came  from  Stamboul.  A  large  ship  arrived  at 
Cavalla,  and  her  sailors  related  that  a  number  of  ships  still 
larger  and  handsomer  had  arrived  in  the  Bay  of  Sta.  Marmara. 
The  ship  put  out  a  boat,  which  came  to  the  shore  and  landed 
a  richly-attired  officer  who  went  up  to  Cavalla.  He  repaired 
to  the  palace  and  delivered  a  letter,  secured  with  magnificent 
seals,  to  the  tschorbadji.  The  letter  was  from  Cousrouf  Pacha 
to  his  host  of  former  years.  He  had  not  been  heard  from 
since  that  time,  and  the  tschorbadji  had  supposed  himself  long 
since  forgotten.  He  was  familiar  with  the  ways  of  the  great, 
whose  lips  are  ever  ready  to  utter  promises,  which  are  for- 
gotten the  next  hour.  Ten  years  have  elapsed,  and  but  rarely 
10 


234:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

have  Cousrouf  Pacha,  his  new  grandeur,  and  the  great  things 
the  future  had  in  store  for  him,  been  heard  of  in  Cavalla. 
And  now  a  letter  announces  that  Cousrouf  Pacha  still  remem- 
bers, and  gladly  remembers,  former  days  : 

"  The  Sublime  Porte  has  determined,"  so  read  the  pacha's 
letter  to  the  governor,  ''  the  Sublime  Porte  has  determined  to 
oppose  the  French  occupation  of  Egypt  with  energy.  The 
rich  land  of  Egypt  belongs  to  the  Sublime  Porte,  and  without 
any  color  of  right  France  takes  possession  of  it  as  its  own 
property." 

Yes,  the  republic  of  France  had  done  this,  had  landed  at 
Alexandria  with  large  armies,  and  had  inundated  almost  the 
whole  of  Egypt  with  its  soldiers.  But  the  Mameluke  Beys, 
who  have  so  long  considered  themselves  the  masters  of  the 
country,  had  taken  the  field  and  fought  the  invaders.  In 
Stamboul,  also,  they  had  long  been  preparing  for  war,  and 
now  that  all  preparations  were  made,  and  an  army  ready 
to  take  the  field  against  the  French,  each  province,  yes,  each 
village  of  the  empire,  was  to  furnish  its  quota  of  soldiers 
in  addition.  Messengers  had  been  sent  out  to  every  city  and 
village  in  the  empire  to  call  on  the  young  men  in  the  name  of 
the  grand-sultan  to  flock  to  the  flag  to  defend  Egypt. 

Cavalla  was  also  to  furnish  its  quota,  and  the  pacha's  in- 
structions were,  that  the  governor  should  with  all  speed  uni- 
form three  hundred  young  men,  and  send  them  to  him. 

Cousrouf  Pacha  had,  however,  also  written  :  "  That  the 
governor  may  see  in  what  glad  remembrance  I  hold  the  past, 
and  that  I  am  grateful,  I  request  that  his  son  Osman  be  placed 
at  their  head  as  captain,  and  come  with  them.  And,"  con- 
^tinued  the  pacha,  "as  his  lieutenant, young  Mohammed  Ali,  if 
still  living,  may  be  serviceable.  However,  I  suppose  that  his 
own  violence  and  passion  have  consumed  this  young  man.  as 
he  persistently  labored  at  his  own  destruction.  If  this,  how- 
ever, is  not  the  case,  and  his  extraordinary  strength  of  consti- 
tution has  preserved  him,  the  youth  must  have  become  a 
strong  man,  and  we  need  such  men  for  our  army." 

The  governor  informed  Mohammed  and  his  son  of  what 
the  pacha  had  written.  He  requested  Mohammed  to  assist 
him  in  recruiting  and  equipping  the  men,  and  Mohammed 


THE  BIM  BASHI.  235 

willingly  gave  his  assistance.  He  repaired  to  Praousta  and 
the  neighboring  places  and  assisted  in  the  work.  He  soothed 
the  displeasure  of  the  men  called  on  to  take  the  field,  spoke  of 
the  heroic  deeds  they  could  perform,  and  of  the  beautiful  land 
to  which  they  were  to  go,  so  distant  from  the  quiet,  desolate 
Praousta. 

And  in  a  few  days  the  three  hundred  men  were  ready  to 
embark.  But  how  was  it  with  regard  to  the  captain  and  his 
lieutenant  ?  Osman  had  reserved  his  decision  for  the  last  day, 
and  Mohammed  seemed  to  have  entirely  forgotten  that  he  was 
selected  as  the  captain's  lieutenant.  He  had  not  spoken  of  it 
during  these  days  ;  Cousrouf 's  mention  of  him  seemed  to  have 
made  no  impression  on  him,  and  his  attention  appeared  to 
have  been  directed  wholly  to  the  equipment  of  the  soldiers. 
Now  that  all  was  in  readiness,  Osman  sent  his  friend  word  to 
come  to  him,  as  he  wished  to  converse  with  him  on  a  matter 
of  grave  importance.  Mohammed  willingly  acceded  to  this 
request  and  repaired  at  once  to  the  garden-house,  where,  since 
the  days  of  his  childhood,  a  couch  had  at  all  times  stood  in 
readiness  for  the  governor's  poor,  sickly  son,  and  seated  him- 
self at  his  side,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  about  something,  Osman.  What 
is  it  ? " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Osman,  with  his  softest  smile,  laying 
his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  and  regarding  him  fixedly. 
"  Well,  I  should  think  you  ought  to  know.  Try  to  divine  it ! " 

Mohammed  slowly  shook  his  head.  "By  Allah,  I  am 
ignorant  what  it  is,  Osman  ! " 

"Well,"  said  the  latter,  smiling,  "I  wish  to  speak  of  our 
departure  with  the  troops." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? " 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  The  pacha,  Cousrouf,  has  appointed 
me  captain  of  the  three  hundred  soldiers,  and  you  my  lieu- 
tenant." 

"  He  has  done  so,  to  be  sure,  but  we  of  course  decline  the 
appointment,"  said  Mohammed,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"And  why?"  asked  Osman,  with  an  expression  of  pro- 
found astonishment. 

"  Why  ?    Well,  my  Osman,  you  surely  cannot  think  of — " 


236  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND  HIS   HOUSE. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  Osman,  nodding  his  head  ;  "  you 
mean  I  cannot  think  of  accepting  any  such  position  as  it 
would  beseem  a  man  of  my  rank  to  hold.  But  I  feel  myself 
in  better  health  ;  it  seems  as  though  the  thought  of  such  a  possi- 
bility had  given  me  new  strength  and  energy.  Who  knows, 
perhaps,  the  luxurious,  effeminate  life  I  have  always  led  is  the 
great  cause  of  my  ill-health  and  weakness  ;  a  new  or  adven- 
turous life  may  do  me  good.  It  is  often  said  that  the  greater 
part  of  disease  is  mere  imagination.  If  one  shakes  this  off,  he 
shakes  his  disease  off  with  it.  Therefore,  I  have  decided  to 
try  this  remedy  myself.  After  full  consideration,  I  have  con- 
cluded to  accept  the  position  of  captain  of  our  troops. " 

"  You  are  really  in  earnest  ! "  exclaimed  Mohammed, 
springing  to  his  feet  in  alarm.  "  You  will  actually  take  this 
position  of  captain,  go  to  the  war,  and  leave  us  !  " 

"  Leave  us  ? "  repeated  Osman.  "  No,  we  two,  of  course,  re- 
main together,  my  friend.  You  go  with  me.  You  are  selected 
as  my  lieutenant.  You  know  Cousrouf  Pacha  added  words  of 
praise  and  acknowledgment  for  you,  too." 

Mohammed's  eye  glittered  for  a  moment,  but  he  looked 
down  quickly.  "  Yes,  he  did  this,  and  his  conduct  is  very- 
noble  and  generous,  for  he  well  knows  that  I  do  not  love  him, 
and  that  I  was  once  his  enemy." 

"  Once,"  repeated  Osman,  closely  regarding  his  friend. 
''  But  that  was  a  long  while  ago,  and  we  have  done  with  the 
dreams  of  our  youth  long  since,  have  we  not,  Mohammed  ? 
What  then  was,  has  passed  away.  He  no  longer  thinks  of 
the  childlike  defiance  you  displayed  toward  him,  the  great 
pacha  ;  and  the  sorrow  and  suffering  he  caused  you  are  long 
since  forgotten." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mohammed,  in  low  tones,  "  yes,  it  is  for- 
gotten. All  sorrow  and  suffering  are  over.  You  are  right. 
All  things  pass  away,  and  time  heals  all  wounds — mine,  too. 
They  are  healed.  Cousrouf  has  forgotten  the  boy's  defiance, 
as  you  say,  and  you  observe  that  what  I  have  suffered  at  his 
hands  is  also  forgotten.  But  I  shall  not  leave  this  place — I 
may  not." 

"You  may  and  you  shall,"  said  Osman,  and  there  was  a 
more  earnest  and  manly  ring  in  his  voice  than  Mohammed 


THE   BIM   BASHI.  237 

had  ever  before  heard.  "  Do  you  not  suppose,  my  boy,  my  be- 
loved, my  second  self — do  you  not  suppose  that  I  read  your 
soul,  and  know  what  is  smouldering  and  lamenting  in  your 
inmost  heart  ?  Mohammed,  I  believe  you  do  not  wish  to  un- 
derstand yourself.  You  have  enveloped  your  heart  in  a  veil 
which  you  do  not  wish  to  rend  asunder,  even  before  your  own 
vision.  But  I,  my  Mohammed,  can  see  through  this  covering, 
and  know  your  heart's  most  secret  thoughts.  Be  still — say 
nothing  yet.  First  consider,  and  then  give  me  a  reply.  Your 
Osman  accepts  the  position,  and  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be- 
come his  friend  Mohammed  to  go  with  him  where  laurels, 
glory,  and  magnificence,  are  awaiting  you.  Look  at  me,  my 
friend  ;  look  at  the  poor,  frail  body  for  which  you  are  so 
necessary  a  support,  and  let  us  be  silent  about  all  the  rest  for 
the  present.  Yet  do  not  forget  that  Osman  loves  you.  and  is 
ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  you.  Say  nothing  now,  Mo- 
hammed, but  reflect  on  what  I  have  said.  And  if  you  love 
me,  and  think  you  owe  me  your  love,  and  wish  to  prove  your 
friendship  for  me,  accept  the  proffered  position,  and  go  out 
with  me  into  the  world.  Go,  and  reflect  about  it,  Mohammed, 
and,  when  you  have  decided,  come  to  me  with  your  answer." 

Mohammed  left  the  garden  as  his  friend  had  asked  him, 
the  words  "  you  must  go  with  me  where  laurels,  glory,  and 
magnificence  await  you,"  resounding  in  his  heart.  He  hears 
them  everywhere,  at  home  with  his  wife,  in  the  midst  of  his 
family.  And  then  the  voice  of  reason  would  in  its  turn  make 
itself  heard  :  "  You  should  not  abandon  the  woman  who  res- 
cued you  from  death,  and  has  given  you  comfort,  wealth,  and 
position.  You  should  not  abandon  the  children,  whom  you 
are  called  on  to  instruct  and  protect." 

"  No,  I  ought  not  to  go,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  as  he  sat 
down  beside  Ada,  and  called  his  children  to  him.  "  No,  I 
must  remain  here." 

And  yet,  again  and  again,  Osman's  words  come  back  to 
him. 

He  could  not  bear  to  chat  with  his  lips,  while  such  voices 
were  speaking  in  his  heart.  He  must  leave  the  house,  seek 
solitude,  and  consult  with  his  own  thoughts.  He  made  some 
pretence  of  pressing  business  requiring  his  attention,  and  went 


238  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

out  into  the  street.  He  started  to  walk  rapidly  toward  the 
spot  on  the  rock,  where  he  had  so  often  sought  solitude  and 
consolation.  Suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder, 
he  turned  and  saw  the  old  Sheik  of  Praousta,  the  successor  of 
Masa's  father,  who  gave  him  a  kindly  greeting. 

Mohammed  always  found  pleasure  with  the  old  man  of 
whom  the  people  said  that  he  had  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and 
could  read  the  future.  Mohammed  did  not  believe  in  this,  but 
he  did  believe  in  his  wisdom  and  experience  of  the  world  ;  and 
knew  that  much  was  to  be  learned  from  the  old  man,  who  had 
been  a  great  traveller,  and  had  now  returned  to  his  home  to 
rest,  to  spend  the  evening  of  his  days  as  Sheik  of  Praousta. 

"  How  fares  it  with  you  ?  "  repeated  the  sheik,  fixing  his 
large  dark  eyes  on  Mohammed  in  a  kindly  gaze. 

"Well,  my  business  affairs  are  prosperous." 

The  sheik  shook  his  head.  "  It  was  not  concerning  such 
matters  that  I  inquired.  Ah,  Mohammed,  it  is  frequently  well 
with  our  business  affairs,  and  just  the  reverse  with  our- 
selves." ' 

"  Well,  then,  things  go  well  with  myself,  also,"  replied 
Mohammed,  but  with  averted  gaze. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "I  can  read  a  man's 
thoughts  on  his  forehead,  Mohammed,  and  I  tell  you  sad 
thoughts  are  inscribed  on  yours."  And  with  another  shake 
of  the  head  he  continued  :  "  The  governor  has,  as  you  know, 
raised  a  body  of  three  hundred  soldiei-s  ;  Osman  has  been  ap- 
pointed their  captain,  and  yourself  his  lieutenant." 

"  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  a  generous  man,"  said  Mohammed,  in 
a  peculiar  tone.  "  He  graciously  forgets  the  days  that  have 
been." 

"No,  my  son,"  said  the  sheik,  "Cousrouf  Pacha  is  a  proud, 
cruel  man,  and  he  now  wishes  to  show  himself  to  those  who 
saw  him  in  those  days  when  he  was  powerless,  and  an  exile, 
in  his  grandeur  and  magnificence.  You  must  know,  my  son, 
that  oftentimes  that  which  seems  noble  and  generous,  consists 
really  only  of  vaingloriousness  and  love  of  display." 

"  I  thank  you  for  these  words,  O  sheik,"  cried  Mohammed, 
with  a  fierce  gesture,  "  I  thank  you  for  having  spoken  from 
my  soul.  Young  as  I  then  was,  I  believe  I  thoroughly  under- 


THE   Bill   BASHI.  239 

stood  this  man,  and  I  am  glad  you  interpret  my  thoughts  so 
well." 

"  Mohammed,''  said  the  sheik,  after  a  pause,  "  you  must  ac- 
company your  young  friend  Osman." 

"  Osman  !  no,  that  is  impossible  ;  how  can  Osman  fill  such 
a  position  ? " 

"He  can,"  said  the  sheik,  "for  you,  Mohammed,  will  ac- 
company him." 

"  No,  sheik,  I  shall  not  accompany  him  ;  I  shall  remain 
here." 

"  You  will  remain  here,  and  why  ? " 

"  I  have  a  wife  and  children,"  replied  Mohammed,  quickly, 
as  if  speaking  to  himself.  "  I  cannot  separate  myself  from 
them.  I  must  not  think  of  it ;  I  have  a  home,  a  family,  a 
prosperous  business,  and  I  live  a  peaceful  life  ;  why,  therefore, 

0  sheik,  go  out  into  the  troubled  world  to  end  my  days,  per- 
haps, in  misery  ?    Here,  I  know  what  I  am — a  respected  mer- 
chant, a  favorite  of  the  governor,  the  friend  of  his  son,  and  I 
may  boast  of  your  friendship,  to^,  sheik.     Tell  me,  why  should 

1  subject  myself  to  the  tempest  of  life  again,  and  go  to  Egypt 
to  fight  the  unbelievers  ?    The  distance  is  great,  the  future  be- 
set with  danger  and  difficulties  ;  and  here  I  have  happiness, 
and  an  assured  future." 

"  You  are  right ;  the  distance  is  great,  and  your  future  one 
of  danger  and  difficulties,"  replied  the  sheik.  ''  Yes,  therein 
you  are  right,  but  you  are  wrong  when  you  determine  not 
to  go." 

"  Wrong — wrong,  you  say  ? " 

"  Yes,  Mohammed,  you  are  wrong  ;  for,  though  the  way  is 
long  and  the  future  one  of  danger  and  difficulty,  yet  is  the  re- 
ward that  awaits  you,  laurels  and  renown,  glorious." 

"Sheik,  do  not  speak  thus  to  me,"  cried  Mohammed,  "do 
not  tempt  me  to  do  what  I  may  repent ;  what  may  bring  mis- 
fortune upon  my  wife  and  children.  No,  rather  tell  me  to 
silence  these  voices  that  are  ever  resounding  in  my  heart.  Oh> 
do  not  tell  me  to  make  ambition  the  pursuit  of  my  life." 

"  And  yet  I  must  do  so,"  replied  the  sheik.  "  I  tell  you, 
you  would  act  with  great  injustice  if  you  should  refuse  to 
awaken  the  hero  that  slumbers  in  you,  if  you  should  condemn 


24:0  MOHAMMED   ALI    AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

the  warrior  to  inactivity,  for  the  sake  of  the  merchant.  Allah 
himself  would  be  displeased,  Mohammed,  for  he  has  given  you 
the  capacity  to  perform  great  things,  and  implanted  great 
thoughts  and  plans  in  your  heart.  And  now  the  way  is  open 
to  you,  and  you  can  carry  out  these  plans.  Therefore,  when 
you  see  Osman  again,  tell  him  that  you  will  go  with  him. 
And  now,  farewell,  Mohammed  ;  consult  with  your  thoughts, 
and  be  strong." 

Greeting  Mohammed  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  the  sheik 
turned  and  walked  away,  leaving  his  friend  gazing  after  him 
in  amazement. 

The  people  are  right :  the  sheik  is  a  prophet ;  else  how 
could  he  know  what  he  had  discussed  with  Osman  that  day, 
inducing  him  to  consider  the  matter  and  give  his  decision  by 
the  following  morning  ?  But,  then,  if  he  is  a  prophet,  he  has 
also  announced  the  truth  and  foretold  the  future.  Very  great 
things  are  in  store  for  him,  and  the  whole  world  of  glory 
dreamed  of  in  his  youth  lies  open  to  him.  This  may  then 
still  be  realized.  No,  Mohammed,  deny  yourself  and  be 
strong.  Bow  beneath  the  will  of  Allah  ;  and  it  surely  can- 
not be  his  will  that  you  should  forsake  wife  and  children,  but, 
rather,  that  you  should  remain  patiently  with  them. 

He  returned  to  his  house,  but  it  was  in  vain  that  he  en- 
deavored to  silence  the  voices  that  whispered  in  his  heart. 

With  earliest  dawn  he  arose  noiselessly  from  the  couch  on 
which  he  had  passed  a  restless  night. 

The  sun  has  risen  !  Is  it  for  the  last  time  that  he  sees  it 
mount  above  these  cliffs  ?  Perhaps  !  He  ascends  the  moun- 
tain-rock, higher  and  higher.  Now  he  stands  still ;  he  is  ap- 
proaching a  consecrated  spot ! 

Why  should  he  come  to  this  place  now  ?  His  heart  had 
never  before  permitted  him  to  approach  it  since  he  had  be- 
come Ada's  husband.  Why  does  he  now  long  again  to  mount 
to  the  spot  on  which  he  had  never  stood  after  those  days  ? 
Since  then  he  has  become  a  man  and  another  being.  There 
he  had  exchanged  vows  of  eternal  love  with  his  Masa  !  There, 
all  Nature  heard  him  swear  :  "  I  love  you  alone,  and  no  other 
woman  shall  ever  stand  at  my  side  !  " 

The  youth  which  had  uttered  these  words  died  in  him  long 


THE  BIM  BASEL  241 

ago.  Mohammed  All  was  now  a  man,  had  a  wife,  and  chil- 
dren called  him  father  ;  and  the  man  had  hitherto  avoided 
treading  on  this  consecrated  ground.  But  now  he  is  driven 
there  by  an  irresistible  longing  ! 

He  walks  rapidly  on,  and  is  soon  there. 

He  stands  where  he  had  stood  with  Masa  ;  where  he  had 
called  down  imprecations  on  her  head  because  he  thought  her 
faithless  ;  where  he  had  also  listened  in  pious  devotion  to  the 
holy  revelation  of  her  love. 

Ten  years  have  passed  since  then.  What  has  remained  of 
those  hopes,  and  of  that  love  ? 

His  dreams  have  ended,  and  his  illusions  are  dissipated. 

"  O  Masa  !  and  people  call  me  a  happy  man.  O  Mother 
Khadra,  look  down  into  your  son's  heart !  The  voices  I  long 
since  thought  silenced  forever,  are  again  aroused — the  voices 
of  love  and  ambition.  O  mother,  it  is  as  though  I  saw  you 
before  me  again,  and  heard  you  relate  your  dream  !  You  saw 
your  son  standing  upon  the  pinnacle  of  a  palace,  a  sword  up- 
lifted in  his  hand,  a  crown  encircling  his  brow,  and  you  knew, 
mother,  that  this  man  with  crown  and  sceptre,  attired  in  pur- 
ple, was  your  son  ;  and  this  man  transformed  himself  into  an 
angel,  and  flew  to  you,  and  kissed  you.  The  man  you  beheld 
as  a  prince  and  hero,  has  again  transformed  himself,  and  this 
time  into  a  miserable  merchant.  Nothing  has  remained  to 
him  of  the  prince,  and  angel,  and  hero  ;  he  is  nothing  more 
than  a  poor  worm  of  earth  ! " 

He  cries  out  loudly  and  fiercely.  All  the  anguish  of 
former  days,  all  the  ungratified  longings  of  the  past,  are  again 
awakened,  and,  long  pent  up,  now  break  forth  in  a  fiery  flood, 
and  sweep  away  and  burn  to  ashes  all  reason,  all  calm  reflec- 
tion, all  the  fruit  of  these  ten  long,  desolate  years  of  tranquil- 
lity and  patient  industry. 

After  a  struggle  with  himself,  he  arose,  and  a  deep  sigh, 
like  a  death-groan,  escaped  his  breast. 

It  was  his  intention  to  go  to  Osman  and  say  :  "  It  is  settled, 
I  remain  !  I  have  just  committed  a  murder  on  myself  ;  I  have 
killed  Mohammed  Ali,  the  eagle,  as  his  mother  called  him,  and 
there  remains  only  the  merchant  Mohammed  !  He  will  creep 
on,  composedly,  over  the  surface  of  the  earth,  collecting  tobac- 


242  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

co,  rolling  it  into  great  balls,  and  rejoicing  when  he  finds  his 
profit  in  so  doing." 

But  it  seemed  as  though  his  footsteps  were  clogged,  as 
though  an  invisible  hand  held  him  back,  and  compelled  him 
to  remain  a  while  longer  on  this  spot  where  he  had  stood  with 
Masa.  And  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  form  suddenly 
arose  from  her  cold  grave  in  the  waves  over  there  beyond  the 
cliiTs.  She  was  arrayed  in  purple,  her  starlike  eyes  were  fixed 
on  him,  and  her  long  hair  enveloped  her  beloved  form  as  with 
a  golden  veil,  the  water  dripping  from  her  like  glittering 
pearls.  It  gradually  arose  out  of  the  waters.  He  had  seen 
such  visions,  such  fata  morgana,  that  appeared  not  unfre- 
quently  on  this  coast,  many  a  time,  and  had  hitherto  smiled  at 
such  illusions.  But  to-day  he  forgot  his  knowledge  and  expe- 
rience, and  the  illusion  was  to  him  reality.  He  stretched  out 
his  arms,  and  gazed  at  the  heavenly  picture  that  had  risen  out 
of  the  waves,  and  his  lips  whispered  in  longing  accents :  "  Masa, 
come  to  me  ;  let  the  water  that  drips  from  you  fall  on  my 
burning  heart,  soothe  my  anguish  ;  speak  to  me  of  my  future, 
and  tell  me  what  you  desire  me  to  do.  Oh,  speak  to  me, 
Masa  ! " 

Enraptured,  he  still  gazed  out  into  the  air  at  the  sweet  vis- 
ion that  rose  higher  and  higher  out  of  the  waves.  At  last  it 
stretched  out  its  arms  over  him,  and  a  cold  breath  kissed  his 
lips  !  After  a  long  pause,  he  opened  his  eyes  again.  Had  he 
been  dreaming  ?  Was  it  reality  ?  He  lay  on  the  rock  alone 
in  the  morning  light  of  the  sun.  The  image  had  disappeared, 
and  silence  surrounded  him,  profound  silence. 

And  in  this  silence  Mohammed  formed  his  last,  his  decisive 
resolve.  As  he  lay  there,  he  had  entreated  Allah  to  deliver 
him,  by  death,  from  this  tormenting  struggle,  this  doubt.  The 
hour  of  irresolution  had  now  passed,  and  he  felt  strengthened 
with  renewed  life.  He  looked  up  at  the  heavens,  and  a 
hitherto  undreamed-of  world  seemed  to  lie  open  before  him. 
He  looked  out  into  the  purple  distance,  and  he  seemed  to  be- 
hold the  minarets,  and  temples,  and  mountains,  and  plains  of 
a  new  land.  Was  he  never  to  reach  this  land  ?  Were  all  the 
dreams  of  his  youth  to  come  to  naught,  and  the  prophecies 
made  by  the  woman  who  had  told  his  mother  that  he  was  to 


THE   BIM   BASHI.  243 

be  a  hero,  to  remain  unfulfilled  ?  And  was  Masa  to  remain 
unavenged  in  her  cold  grave  ?  He  has  duties  to  fulfil  toward 
wife  and  children.  But  revenge  is  also  a  sacred  duty,  and  he 
has  sworn  to  himself  a  thousand  times,  that  he  will  perform 
this  duty.  Vengeance  for  Masa  !  Vengeance  on  him  !  The 
hour  has  come  !  Grasp  the  occasion  !  He  may  fail  in  his 
career,  but,  if  successful,  his  success  will  be  great,  divine.  It 
will  be  heavenly,  if  he  must  die,  to  fall  on  the  field  of  battle 
amid  the  roar  of  artillery,  and  the  clash  of  arms.  Such  a 
death  were  far  preferable  to  a  life  like  that  he  now  leads,  pro- 
tracted through  long,  weary  years.  Who  has  brought  about 
this  struggle,  and  implanted  these  aspirations  in  his  breast  ? 
It  is  Allah's  work  !  In  his  early  youth,  his  mother  had  told 
him  of  her  dreams,  and  hope  for  her  boy  !  Who  was  it  that 
arose  from  the  waves  and  permitted  him  to  see  in  her  dewy 
hand  a  sword  and  a  crown  !  It  was  Masa,  his  Masa  !  These 
three,  Allah,  his  mother,  and  Masa,  have  spoken  to  him,  and 
Mohammed  has  heard  and  understood  their  words. 

As  he  stands  there  on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  gazing  out  into 
the  distance,  and  listening  to  the  sea  murmuring  at  his  feet, 
he  now  feels  that  he  is  the  instrument  chosen  to  do  great 
deeds.  He  must  obey  Destiny,  he  must  respond  to  the  appeal 
of  revenge,  of  honor,  and  of  renown.  And  a  threatening 
voice  whispers  in  his  soul  :  "  Cousrouf  Pacha,  beware  !  You 
have  called  your  judge  yourself.  Beware,  the  avenger  will 
appear  !  You  will  not  recognize  him,  for  his  countenance 
will  smile,  and  his  bearing  will  be  soft  and  composed.  You 
will  not  recognize  him,  but  he  will  come.  Beware,  Cousrouf 
Pacha  ! " 

Mohammed  now  turns  to  descend  to  Cavalla,  and  he  feels 
himself  a  changed,  a  new  man. 

He  slowly  descended,  his  head  erect,  his  breast  swelling 
with  a  proud  joyousness.  The  struggle  is  over,  and  the  voice 
of  anguish  is  forever  stilled.  Mohammed  comes  among  men 
again  another  and  a  better  man,  and,  before  returning  to  his 
own  house,  he  repairs  to  the  palace  of  the  tschorbadji,  to  seek 
his  friend  Osman. 

When  Osman  saw  him  coming  he  smiled,  nodded  to  him, 
and  held  out  his  hand. 


244  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Well,  my  Mohammed,  I  see  by  your  countenance  that  the 
struggle  is  over,  and  that  Mohammed  knows  what  future  is  in 
store  for  him." 

Mohammed  grasped  his  friend's  hand  warmly  in  his  own, 
a  bright  smile  lighting  up  his  countenance. 

"  He  at  least  knows,  my  Osman,  what  demands  he  intends 
to  make  of  the  future,  and,  if  they  are  not  accorded,  he  will  at 
least  know  how  to  die  gloriously." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EMBARKATION. 

"  Is  it  then  really  true,  Osman  ? "  asked  the  governor,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes.  "  Have  you  resolved  to  leave  me  and  as- 
sume command  of  the  troops  ? " 

u  Yes,  my  dear  father,  I  have.  It  is  time  I  showed  myself 
to  be  a  man  !  And  do  you  not  think  the  uniform  of  a  him 
bashi  will  become  me  well ;  and  that  I,  too,  have  some  desire 
to  parade  in  my  finery  before  beautiful  women,  and  be 
honored  with  their  gracious  looks  ? " 

"  You  are  jesting,  my  son,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  sadly. 
''  With  a  grave  air  your  lips  speak  joyous  words  of  which 
your  heart  knows  nothing.  No,  you  cannot  deceive  your 
father.  It  is  not  the  uniform  that  charms  you,  nor  has  or  can 
war  have  any  thing  attractive  for  you." 

"You  mean  by  that,  father,  that  a  sickly,  weak  man,  like 
myself,  can  take  no  pleasure  in  military  service.  Believe  me, 
it  will  make  me  healthier  and  stronger.  I  have  been  treated 
like  an  invalid  long  enough,  and  have  not  benefited  by  such 
treatment.  Let  us  now  defy  fate  and  ill  health.  Moreover," 
he  continued,  after  a  short  pause,  "  moreover,  I  have  chosen 
Mohammed  to  be  my  companion,  my  lieutenant,  in  order  that 
I  might  have  a  strong  arm  to  lean  on.  With  Mohammed  at 
my  side,  I  shall  have  no  fear  in  the  conflict.  His  presence 
will  give  me  the  needful  strength.  I  tell,  you  I  feel  stronger 
and  better  already.  Bi:t  now  let  me  go  and  put  on  my  uni- 


THE  EMBARKATION.  245 

form.  And  do  you  not  think  you  will  be  proud  of  my  sol- 
dierly appearance  yourself  when  you  walk  down  to  the  ship 
with  me,  and  hear  people  whisper  to  each  other  :  '  That  is 
Osman  !  We  would  not  have  believed  him  to  be  so  stately 
and  strong  a  man  ! '  Tell  me,  would  this  not  gladden  your 
heart?" 

He  nodded  to  his  father,  and  without  awaiting  his  answer 
turned  and  went  hastily  to  his  apartments,  to  put  on  his  uni- 
form. 

The  tschorbadji  looked  after  him  sadly. 

''  If  I  could  only  discover  what  secret  purpose  induces  my 
son  to  play  the  soldier  !  I  will  ask  Mohammed,  and  also  re- 
quest him  to  watch  over  my  son." 

He  went  down  into  the  court-yard  where  Mohammed, 
dressed  in  the  uniform  of  the  boulouk  bashi  again,  was  en- 
gaged in  drawing  up  his  soldiers  in  rank  and  file,  preparatory 
to  marching  them  down  to  the  harbor,  where  they  were  to 
embark.  He  beckoned  to  Mohammed  to  come  into  the  hall, 
and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  can  count  on 
you,  my  friend,  can  I  not  ? " 

u  Tschorbadji,  you  can  count  on  me  at  all  times,  while  life 
lasts  ! " 

"  You  will  watch  over  my  Osman  ? "  said  he,  in  low  tones. 
"  You  will  not  permit  him  to  undertake  that  which  his  body 
is  unable  to  bear,  though  his  spirit  be  well  equal  to  the  task  ? " 

"  I  will  care  for  him  as  though  he  were  my  better  self,  as  I 
would  for  the  woman  I  love  ! "  said  Mohammed.  "  I  well 
know  that  his  spirit  is  strong,  but  his  body  is  delicate.  And 
therefore  when  he  goes  into  danger,  and  I  cannot  prevent  it, 
I  will  protect  him  unto  death,  with  my  own  body  !  This  I 
swear  to  you  by  Allah,  and  by  my  love  for  my  friend  Osman  ! " 

u  I  thank  you,  Mohammed,"  said  the  tschorbadji,  deeply 
moved.  "My  Osman  is  my  only  joy  in  life.  You  are  a 
father,  too,  Mohammed,  and  you  know  how  a  father  loves  his 
child." 

"  I  do,  tschorbadji,"  replied  he,  "  and  as  a  father  I  beg  you 
to  look  after  my  children  sometimes.  You  are  related  to  them 
through  their  mother  ;  shield  and  protect  them,  and  if  the 
news  should  come  that  destiny  has  been  unfavorable  to  me,  or 


246  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

favorable  if  you  will,  and  I  shall  have  fallen  on  the  field  of 
battle,  think  of  this  moment,  and  watch  over  my  boys  !  They 
will  be  well  provided  for,  as  far  as  the  goods  of  this  world  are 
concerned.  I  have  made  over  all  I  possess,  and  all  I  have 
earned  since  I  began  my  business,  to  my  wife  ;  from  this  hour 
all  that  was  mine  is  hers.  I  take  nothing  out  into  the  world 
with  me  ;  I  will  enter  it  as  a  new  man.  It  all  came  from  my 
wife,  and  it  is  now  restored  to  her.  I  am  going  out  into  the 
world  a  new  man,  but  the  old  love  will  remain  here  in  Cavalla 
with  my  wife  and  with  you,  and  it  will  accompany  me  in  the 
person  of  my  beloved  Osman.  You  need  have  no  fear  on  our 
account.  While  I  live,  Osman  shall  be  protected  and  watched 
over." 

While  they  were  conversing  in  the  hall,  Osman  was  put- 
ting on  the  uniform  of  the  bim  bashi.  His  faithful  slaves 
were  assisting  him,  and  rejoiced  in  his  magnificence  ;  and  as 
he  now  stood  before  them  in  his  gold-embroidered  uniform, 
his  too  slender  waist  encircled  with  a  broad  leather  girdle, 
from  which  dangled  his  sword  with  its  golden  hilt,  and  to 
which  his  two  pistols,  with  jewelled  stocks,  were  attached,  his 
slaves  cried  out  with  delight,  and  fell  on  their  knees  and 
kissed  his  feet. 

He  told  them  to  rise  and  to  get  themselves  ready,  as  these 
two  faithful  servants  were  to  accompany  him. 

When  they  had  gone,  Osman  sank  down  upon  his  cushions 
exhausted. 

'k  O  Allah,  give  me  strength  sufficient  to  walk  down  to  the 
shore  with  the  appearance  of  health. — Be  strong,  poor,  weak 
breast,  suppress  your  pain  until  I  have  reached  the  ship  ! — 
Make  me  strong,  Allah,  until  my  aim  is  attained,  until  I  have 
proved  to  my  friend  that  I  love  him." 

Hearing  footsteps  approaching,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
assumed  a  cheerful  aud  composed  manner,  as  his  father  and 
Mohammed  came  in  and  announced  that  all  was  in  readiness 
for  their  departure,  and  that  the  soldiers  were  only  waiting 
for  their  bim  bashi  to  march  down  to  the  shore. 

"  I,  however,  my  bim  bashi,  have  come  with  a  request," 
said  Mohammed,  quickly,  "  and  I  hope  he  will  not  refuse  his 
boulouk  bashi's  first  request.  I  beg  you,  Osman,  to  go  with 


THE   EMBARKATION.  247 

your  father  in  advance  to  the  shore,  and  take  up  your  position 
there.  I  will  then  follow  with  the  soldiers,  and  pass  with  them 
in  review  before  you.  This  is  appropriate,  and  you  must  al- 
low the  boulouk  hashi  and  the  soldiers  to  show  you  these 
honors.1' 

ulf  such  is  the  custom,  then  let  it  be  so,"  said  Osman,  smil- 
ing.— "  Let  us  now  go,  father,  as  Mohammed  requests." 

"But  I  also  have  a  request  to  make,  my  son,"  said  the 
tschorbadji.  "  I  have  met  with  an  accident :  in  crossing  the 
court-yard  I  sprained  my  ankle  slightly,  and  I  cannot  walk, 
as  it  pairis  me.  You  must  therefore  do  me  the  kindness  to  al- 
low yourself  to  be  carried  down  with  me  in  the  palanquin. 
It  will  excite  no  surprise  ;  the  soldiers  saw  me  when  the  acci- 
dent occurred,  and  no  one  will  suppose  it  is  on  your  account." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  father,"  replied  Osman,  gravely,  "  that  the 
bim  bashi  should  walk  down,  and  await  his  soldiers  standing." 

"  And  he  shall,"  said  his  father,  quickly.  "  Below  he  shall 
await  his  soldiers,  standing,  while  the  poor  tschorbadji  must 
remain  seated  in  his  palanquin. — Oh,  the  pain  !  Let  me  support 
myself  on  your  arm,  Mohammed  !  You  have  no  idea  how  my 
foot  hurts  ! " 

Osman  averted  his  face,  that  they  might  not  see  the  tears 
that  stood  in  his  eyes.  He  discerned,  only  too  well,  that  they 
both  knew  his  weakness  and  were  tenderly  caring  for  him  1 

But,  in  spirit  at  least,  he  must  be  a  man,  and  he  turns  and 
looks  at  them  firmly  and  composedly. 

"  Then  come,  father.  I  will  go  down  with  you  in  the  pa- 
lanquin." 

The  slaves  and  servants  saw  the  tschorbadji,  supported  by 
Mohammed,  limp  to  the  palanquin  ;  Osman  followed  them 
with  firm  footstep,  his  head  proudly  erect.  The  people 
rejoiced  in  his  stately  appearance,  and  in  the  glittering  uni- 
form that  became  him  so  well. 

Osman  was  carried  down  to  Praousta  at  his  father's  side. 
The  fishermen,  who  stood  there  awaiting  him,  greeted  the 
young  bim  bashi  with  loud  huzzas.  They  wished  him  happi- 
ness and  success  in  his  military  career. 

Osman  thanked  them  in  a  loud,  clear  voice,  and  no  one 
knew  what  pain  the  effort  cost  him.  Arrived  at  the  shore,  he 


24:8  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

stepped  out  of  the  palanquin  with,  an  appearance  of  joyous 
haste,  and  took  up  his  position  beside  his  father  to  receive 
from  the  soldiers,  who  were  now  approaching,  Mohammed  at 
their  head,  the  military  honors.  And  now  the  hour  of  leave- 
taking  had  arrived.  The  admiral's  boat  had  come  to  convey 
the  him  bashi  to  the  ship.  The  tschorbadji  insisted  on  accom- 
panying his  son  on  board,  and  seated  himself  beside  him  in 
the  boat  into  which  the  slaves  and  servants  who  were  to  go 
with  Osman  now  also  entered. 

Mohammed  had  declined  to  go  with  them  to  the  vessel. 
The  soldiers  must  first  be  embarked,  and  the  boulouk  bashi 
will  be  the  last  to  leave  the  shore,  for  this  the  military  law  re- 
quires. 

The  boats  were  soon  filled  with  the  soldiers,  and  the  bay, 
covered  with  all  kinds  of  skiffs,  boats,  and  barks,  now  pre- 
sented a  very  gay,  lively  spectacle.  The  entire  population  of 
Praousta  and  Cavalla  were  assembled  on  the  shore  to  witness 
the  embarkation. 

Ada  and  her  boys  had  also  come  down,  and  were  gathered 
around  the  husband  and  father  to  take  leave  of  him  ;  beside 
them  stood  Mohammed's  old  friend,  the  merchant  Lion.  As 
the  boats  now  began  to  put  off  from  the  shore,  Mohammed 
took  his  wife's  hand  and  led  her  aside,  away  from  the  others. 

"  Ada,  my  wife,"  said  he,  "  I  bid  you  a  last  farewell !  " 

She  sobbed  beneath  her  veil,  and  tears  poured  in  streams 
from  her  eyes. 

"You  weep  on  my  account,"  said  he  ;  "that  proves  that  I 
have  at  least  not  made  my  wife  unhappy,  and  that  she  is  not 
glad  to  be  alone." 

"  Ah,  Mohammed,"  murmured  she,  "  happy  have  you  made 
me,  and  I  owe  you  thanks  for  many  glad  years  !  " 

"  And  I  thank  you  for  these  words,"  said  he,  gently.  "  I 
will  take  them  with  me  as  an  amulet  to  protect  me  without,  in 
the  world.  Think  of  me,  and  watch  over  my  children.  Care 
for  them,  and  do  not  let  them  become  the  drones  or  drudges 
of  existence.  Remember  that  their  father  is  a  soldier,  and 
that  he  remains  one  to  the  end  !  Raise  my  children  with  ref- 
erence to  this  !  Have  them  instructed,  Ada,  for  my  sons 
must  not  come  as  ignorant  soldiers  to  my  army  ! " 


THE   EMBARKATION.  249 

"  To  your  army?"  exclaimed  Ada,  regarding  him  in  as- 
tonishment— "  your  army  ? " 

He  started  ;  his  inmost  thoughts  had  for  a  moment  escaped 
his  lips.  "  The  army  in  which  I  serve  ! "  said  he,  quickly. 
"  Have  my  boys  taught  to  read  and  write  ;  this  is  necessary, 
believe  me.  And  now,  farewell,  and  receive  my  thanks  for 
all  the  beautiful  days  and  years  which  you  have  sought  to 
bless  me  with  ! " 

He  did  not  say,  ''which  you  have  blessed  me  with."  He 
did  not  wish  to  take  leave  of  her  with  a  falsehood  on  his  lips, 
and  his  eye  glanced  over  toward  the  place  where  Masa  had 
sunk  beneath  the  waves.  There  lay  his  happiness  buried,  and 
from  that  grave  it  had  never  risen.  Ada  knew  it  not,  he  had 
never  complained,  and  never  seemed  discontented  ;  she  had 
thought  him  happy.  His  love  and  thirst  for  revenge  had 
hitherto  slumbered,  but  now  they  were  awakened  to  new  life. 
He  would  have  vengeance  on  him  who  had  murdered  her  he 
loved,  and  heaped  insult  upon  himself  !  He  is  now  going  out 
into  the  world,  where  he  must  meet  Cousrouf  Pacha,  and  on 
him  will  he  wreak  vengeance  for  all  his  wrongs  and  suffer- 
ings !  Yes,  his  Masa,  his  white  dove,  shall  be  avenged  ! 

With  such  thoughts,  Mohammed  enters  the  boat  that 
rapidly  conveys  him  to  the  ship  where  Osman  stands  on  the 
deck  awaiting  him. 

"  Welcome,  Mohammed  !  We  are  on  the  road  to  honor 
and  renown  1 " 

"  Yes,  my  Osman,  to  honor  and  renown,"  responded  Mo- 
hammed. 

"  And  may  Allah's  blessing  accompany  you  ! "  said  the 
tschorbadji,  holding  his  son  in  his  arms  in  a  farewell  embrace. 
He  then  enters  the  boat  that  awaits  him,  and  is  rowed  back  to 
the  shore. 

Osman  stands  on  the  deck  beside  his  friend  ;  the  soldiers 
stand  around,  silent  and  respectful  in  the  presence  of  their 
him  bashi,  and  now  the  farewell  gun  is  fired. 

The  governor,  Ada,  and  the  merchant,  who  stand  in  a 
group  on  the  shore,  wave  their  handkerchiefs  :  "  Farewell, 
farewell  ! " 

Mohammed  turns  to  Osman.     "  Be  joyous,   my  friend  ! 


250  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

We  have  done  with  the  past,  and  a  brilliant  future  awaits  us  ! 
Look,  there  rests  my  Masa,  and,  I  tell  you,  a  monument 
prouder  and  grander  than  was  ever  erected  to  woman,  shall 
rise  over  her  grave  !  The  whole  sea  shall  be  her  monument, 
and  on  the  coast  of  Egypt  will  I  erect  one  to  my  Masa,  to  my 
love,  and  my  revenge  !  " 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE  CAMP  AT  ABOUK3R. 

THE  life  of  the  Mameluke  beys  had  for  months  been  a  con- 
tinuous festival.  Nothing  but  pleasure  and  festivity  ;  nothing 
but  assurances  of  love  and  friendship  on  the  part  of  their  for- 
mer enemies,  the  Turks. 

Since  the  hated  Franks,  after  so  many  struggles,  so  many 
defeats  and  fruitless  shedding  of  blood,  had  embarked  in  their 
proud  ships  and  returned  to  Europe,  the  prospects  for  peace  in 
the  land  that  was  bleeding  from  a  thousand  wounds  seemed  to 
be  bright.  Friends  and  enemies  had  made  these  wounds  ; 
friends  and  enemies  had  torn  the  once  fair  form  of  the  beauti- 
ful land  of  the  Pharaohs,  and  converted  it  into  a  hideous 
corpse. 

The  battle-fields  of  Aboukir,  the  Pyramids  of  Gheezeh,  the 
blood-soaked  fields  of  Syria,  the  overthrown  walls  of  St.  Jean 
d'Acre,  and  of  the  magnifient  city  of  the  caliphs,  Cairo,  tell  of 
the  French  general,  Bonaparte,  who,  at  the  head  of  his  army, 
had  entered  upon  a  crusade  in  order  to  bless  Egypt  with  civil- 
ization. This  was  his  pretext.  He  intended,  with  his  sans 
culottes,  to  carry  civilization  to  the  Orient,  and,  not  being  able 
to  convert  them  to  Christianity  by  persuasion  or  trickery,  he 
determined  to  baptize  them  with  blood. 

At  first  the  Mameluke  beys,  who  until  then  had  ruled  in 
Egypt,  and  had,  in  protracted  struggles,  endeavored  to  cast  off 
their  allegiance  to  the  grand-sultan,  had  supposed  it  would  be 
an  easy  matter  to  drive  back  the  French  barbarians  from  the 
yellow  shores  of  Africa.  . 

Mourad  Bey,  the  chief  of  all  the  Mameluke  beys,  was  sitting 


THE   CAMP  AT   ABOUKIR.  251 

at  a  joyous  banquet  in  Alexandria,  when  several  of  his  officers 
rushed  into  the  hall  to  announce  that  a  number  of  ships  were 
entering  the  harbor,  and  that  a  body  of  Franks  had  already 
landed.  The  Mameluke  chieftain  laughed,  and,  without  ris- 
ing from  his  seat,  said  to  the  messengers  :  "  Give  these  French 
beggars  a  bakshish,  and  tell  them  to  clear  out,  or  Mourad  Bey 
will  compel  them  to  do  so." 

'"But,"  observed  the  English  consul,  who  had  just  entered 
the  hall,  "  excellency,  these  Franks  have  come  to  possess  them- 
selves of  Egypt.  Hasten  to  make  preparations  for  your  de- 
fence." 

Mourad  Bey  laughed  again.  "  You  take  a  gloomy  view  of 
things,  my  friend. — Go  and  give  these  wretches  something  to 
eat,  and,  as  I  have  already  ordered,  a  little  money,  also,  and 
then  advise  them  to  depart  with  all  speed,  or  I  will  have  them 
driven  off  by  my  servants." 

But  the  Franks  were  not  to  be  driven  off  so  easily.  They 
were  bringing  civilization,  the  glory  of  the  French  Republic, 
to  Egypt,  and  were  determined  to  make  them  happy  by  force. 
The  republic  at  home  had  become  too  small  for  the  great  gen- 
eral. "Europe  is  a  mere  mole-hill,"  he  had  said;  "there 
never  were  great  kingdoms  and  great  enterprises  elsewhere 
than  in  the  Orient,  where  six  hundred  million  people 
live  ! " 

And  it  was  indeed  a  great  enterprise  that  Bonaparte  wished 
to  attempt  in  Egypt,  and  great  things  he  really  did  accomplish 
there.  So  great  were  they,  that  General  Kleber,  in  secret  his 
enemy  and  rival,  could  nevertheless  not  refrain  from  saying, 
after  one  of  the  victories  : 

"  You  are  as  great,  Bonaparte,  as  the  world,  but  the  world 
is  too  small  for  your  glory  !  " 

And  yet  a  day  had  come  when  the  man  who  was  too  great 
for  the  world  had  to  make  himself  small  before  the  victorious 
Mameluke  beys,  when  he  secretly,  accompanied  by  a  few  faith- 
ful followers  only,  departed  from  Egypt  to  return  to  the  mole- 
hill Europe,  to  seek  a  crown  for  himself  there.  Bonaparte 
had  left  behind,  in  want  and  misery,  the  army  that  had  suf- 
fered so  much,  not  only  from  battle  and  disease,  but  also  from 
the  cruelty  of  its  leaders.  Was  it  not  at  Jaffa  that  Bonaparte 


252  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

caused  the  sick  and  wounded  to  be  poisoned,  in  order  to 
shorten  their  sufferings  ?  And  one  other  deed  of  cruelty  of 
the  general  of  civilization,  who  had  gone  to  Egypt  to  confer 
happiness  upon  the  unbelievers,  stands  recorded  in  the  books 
of  history.  Was  it  not  in  Egypt  that  the  French  general 
caused  the  prisoners  of  war  who  had  surrendered  to  General 
Desaix  to  be  led  down  to  the  seashore  and  shot,  contrary  to 
the  usages  of  warfare  ?  Four  thousand  Arabian  soldiers  were 
assassinated  in  this  manner.  This  was  one  of  the  monuments 
of  civilization  erected  by  the  French  general  in  the  Orient  ! 
And  the  revolt  in  Cairo,  the  massacre  of  so  many  French  sol- 
diers, and  the  hatred  of  the  whole  people,  was  the  harvest 
reaped  by  Bonaparte  for  this  bloody  deed. 

"  Death  to  the  Franks  !  "  was  the  cry  of  every  Egyptian — 
the  cry  that  was  common  to  the  Mameluke  chieftain  and  the 
lowest  fellah. 

"  Death  to  the  Franks  ! "  murmured  the  sheiks  and  ulemas 
with  each  prayer.  And  when  Bonaparte  had  secretly  fled, 
this  ominous  cry  resounded  through  all  Egypt — "Death  to  the 
Franks  ! " 

General  Kleber,  Bonaparte's  successor,  was  the  first  victim 
sacrificed.  At  Cairo,  on  the  grand  square  of  the  Esbekieh, 
under  the  large  sycamore  at  a  corner  of  the  harem  of  one  of 
the  Mameluke  beys,  he  was  stricken  down  by  the  dagger  of  a 
fanatical  Turk.  And  now  terror  and  dismay  possessed  itself 
of  the  whole  army,  and  not  only  were  the  Egyptians  glad 
when  the  command  came  from  Europe  that  the  French 
soldiers  should  embark,  but  the  latter  also  esteemed  them- 
selves happy  when,  from  the  decks  of  their  ships,  they  saw  the 
yellow  coast  of  Africa  gradually  disappear.  Since  then, 
bright,  happy  days  seemed  to  have  come  again  for  the  proud 
Mameluke  beys,  and  happiness  appeared  to  dawn  again  over 
the  stricken  land.  The  English,  who,  off  the  coast  of  Egypt, 
had  destroyed  the  French  ships,  their  armada,  were  now  mas- 
ters of  the  situation.  They  united  themselves  with  the  Mame- 
luke beys,  and  undertook  to  mediate  between  them  and  the 
Turkish  ruler. 

"  Egypt  is  to  be  blessed  with  peace,  and  they  who  have  so 
long  contended  with  each  other  in  bitter  hostility  are  to  extend 


THE   CAMP  AT   ABOUKIR.  253 

their  hands  to  each  other.  Let  recognition  be  accorded  to  the 
Mameluke  beys,  and  favorable  conditions  of  peace  offered 
them,  and  they  will  submit."  This  Lord  Balan  had  an- 
nounced to  the  grand-sultan,  and  his  first  servant,  the  grand- 
vizier,  at  Stamboul.  And  he  had  gone  to  and  fro,  from  Cairo 
to  StambouJ,  from  Stamboul  to  Cairo,  until  peace  was  at  last, 
as  it  seemed,  secured. 

"The  Mameluke  beys,"  so  read  the  last  decision  of  the 
grand-sultan,  Selim  II.,  "are  to  leave  Cairo  and  to  go  to  Upper 
Egypt,  where  large  tracts  of  land  are  to  be  assigned  them, 
with  their  wives,  their  treasures,  and  their  servants,  to  rule 
there  in  freedom  and  magnificence." 

The  Mamelukes  took  these  propositions  into  favorable  con- 
sideration ;  they  were  weary  of  bloodshed  and  longed  for  the 
peaceful  desert  plains  and  for  the  sunny  tents,  where  they 
could  rest  from  their  long  struggles  in  quiet  comfort,  listen  to 
the  songs  of  the  female  slaves,  and  gaze  at  the  voluptuous 
dances  of  the  almehs.  Yes,  they  will  return  home  to  the  be- 
loved south,  to  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile,  to  the  sunny  shores 
where  the  temple  ruins  of  by-gone  magnificence  stand  out 
against  the  deep  blue  sky. 

Yes,  they  longed  for  peace,  and  for  the  sublime  stillness  of 
the  desert ;  they  consented  to  Lord  Balan's  proposition,  and 
declared  themselves  ready  to  meet  the  servants  of  the  sultan, 
and  arrange  with  them  the  boundaries  of  the  tracts  of  land 
that  were  to  be  assigned  to  them,  and  to  conclude  peace.  They 
had,  therefore,  in  response  to  the  invitation  of  the  Turks,  come 
out  to  the  peninsula  of  Aboukir.  There,  on  the  wide  plain 
that  had  three  years  before  been  drenched  with  the  blood 
of  the  French  and  the  Egyptians,  now  stood  the  stately  tents 
of  the  Turks  and  the  Mamelukes. 

It  was  a  splendid  spectacle,  the  wide  plain  with  its  array  of 
gayly-decorated  tents,  with  its  great  squares,  on  which  the 
Mamelukes  mounted  on  their  proud  steeds,  displayed  their 
skill  with  the  spear  and  the  gun,  exciting  the  admiration  of 
the  Turks  by  their  skill  and  agility. 

All  was  festivity,  and  life  was  enjoyed  as  though  it  were  an 
uninterrupted  chain  of  pleasures.  Yet  there  were  some  who 
felt  less  contented  than  these  Mameluke  beys,  some  who  had 


254:  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

learned  from  the  French,  that  promises  and  assurances  of 
friendship  were  not  always  to  be  relied  on. 

Many  of  the  beys  had  brought  their  wives  with  them,  for 
the  wives  of  the  beys  enjoyed  greater  liberty  than  those  of  the 
Turks,  and  they  could  move  about  among  the  tents,  with  as 
little  constraint  as  in  the  streets  of  Cairo.  The  Mameluke 
honors  his  bey's  wife,  and  bows  down  in  the  dust  before  her, 
when  she  passes  by  with  head  erect  and  veiled  countenance, 
followed  by  her  slaves. 

On  this,  the  fourteenth  day  of  their  sojourn  at  Aboukir, 
the  Mamelukes  also  bow  profoundly  before  a  woman  who, 
followed  by  two  servants,  is  passing  down  between  the  double 
row  of  tents,  and  whisper  to  each  other  :  "  This  is  the  wife  of 
our  greatest  chieftain,  the  deceased  Mourad  Bey  !  How  does 
it  happen  that  she  has  left  her  beautiful  palace  in  Cairo  ? 
For  what  purpose  has  Sitta  Nefysseh  come  to  Aboukir  ? " 

And  when  she  had  passed,  the  Mamelukes  raised  their 
heads  and  followed  with  their  eyes  the  white  form  as  it  swept 
on  between  the  tents,  and  observed  with  astonishment  that 
Mourad  Bey's  widow  had  stopped  at  the  tent  of  the  bey  who 
was  now  their  first  chief,  at  the  tent  of  Osman  Bey  Bardissi. 
Mourad's  widow,  and  those  who  accompanied  her,  entered  this 
tent. 

He  lay  on  the  divan,  smoking  his  chibouque.  But  upon 
her  appearance  at  the  entrance  to  the  tent,  he  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

"  You  here,  Sitta — you  in  the  camp  at  Aboukir  ? " 

u  I  have  come  to  speak  with  you,"  she  replied,  earnestly. — 
"  Let  the  rest  leave  the  tent.  Mourad's  widow  can  be  alone 
with  the  man  whom  her  deceased  husband  called  his  dear 
friend." 

He  waved  his  hand  imperiously,  and  all  the  servants  with- 
drew from  the  tent,  closing  the  gold-embroidered  curtains  be- 
hind them. 

"  Speak  !  "  said  the  bey,  in  deferential  tones.  "  Your  serv- 
ant hears,  and  is  ready  to  obey  your  commands." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  command,"  replied  she  ;  "  I  have  come 
to  warn  you,  Osman." 

"To  warn  me,  Sitta?" 


THE   CAMP  AT   ABOUKIR.  255 

"Yes,  Osman.  You  have  allowed  yourselves  to  be  de- 
ceived by  the  flattering  words  of  those  who  call  themselves 
your  friends,  but  can  never  be  other  than  your  enemies.  Do 
you  suppose  that  the  sultan  will  ever  give  you,  his  hated 
enemies — you,  the  haughty  Mameluke  beys — your  rights  and 
your  freedom  ?  I,  who  gazed  in  my  dying  Mourad's  eyes  and 
read  his  last  thoughts,  I  say  to  you,  that  the  sultan  will  not 
rest  until  death  has  closed  your  lips  forever,  or  until  you  have 
closed  his  !  I  tell  you  they  are  planning  your  destruction. 
Do  not  ask  from  what  source  my  information  comes.  The 
wise  man  will  listen  and  take  the  advice  of  the  woman  who 
was  his  friend's  wife.  Demand  this  very  day,  that,  after  these 
long-continued  festivities,  the  grave  matters  that  call  you  here 
be  immediately  proceeded  with  ;  demand  that  the  conditions 
on  which  the  sultan  is  to  make  you  free  and  independent  in 
Upper  Egypt  be  plainly  stated.  And  if  they  will  not  name 
them,  then  embark  in  your  boats  before  the  sun  sets,  and  re- 
turn to  Cairo  ;  for,  believe  me,  there  alone  will  you  be  safe  ! 
I  come  to  you  in  the  name  of  Destiny,  by  whom  I  have  been 
warned  !  My  lord  and  master  appeared  to  me  last  night  in  a 
dream,  showed  me  his  bleeding  wounds,  and  said  to  me  :  '  Go 
and  save  my  friends.  Say  to  them  that  the  last  battle  has  not 
yet  been  fought  at  Aboukir,  and  tell  them  that,  if  they  do  not 
hasten  to  depart,  the  waves  that  encircle  Aboukir  will  soon  be 
reddened  with  their  blood,  as  was  the  sand  of  Aboukir  a  few 
years  ago  ! '  And  therefore  have  I  come,  O  Osman,  to  warn 
you  !  Put  away  from  you  your  confidence  in  these  treacher- 
ous Turks.  Do  not  hearken  to  the  whisperings  of  the  English- 
men, do  not  rely  on  the  promises  of  your  enemies.  Require  a 
decision  this  very  day,  and  if  it  is  not  given,  depart  at  once, 
before  the  setting  of  the  sun.  Danger  threatens  you  all,  great, 
fearful  danger." 

"  Impossible,  Sitta ! "  replied  Osman  Bey,  composedly. 
"  Impossible  !  We  cannot  depart  to-day,  and  the  decision 
cannot  be  made  now.  But  I  have  already  demanded  it,  and 
they  have  promised  that  these  matters  shall  be  arranged  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days." 

"In  the  course  of  a  few  days  !"  repeated  Sitta.  "You 
have  warned  your  enemies  yourself,  Osman  !  They  have  ob- 


256  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

served  that  distrust  has  begun  to  hud  in  your  hitherto  trusting 
heart,  and  with  their  swords  and  daggers  they  will  destroy 
the  tender  plant  in  its  first  growth.  By  Allah,  I  conjure  you, 
and  by  your  love  for  my  husband,  be  on  your  guard  ;  leave  the 
peninsula,  and  return  to  Cairo  1 " 

''  If  it  were  possible,  Sitta,  I  would  do  it  out  of  reverence 
for  you.  But  on  the  morrow,  I  promise  you,  I  will  return  to 
the  continent.  To-morrow,  a  festival  takes  place  in  Alexan- 
dria ;  Lord  Balan,  the  English  general,  is  to  receive  his  troops 
there,  and  the  capitan  pacha,  who  is  encamped  here  with  his 
warriors,  has  invited  us  to  participate  in  the  festivities  at  Alex- 
andria." 

"Beware,  oh  beware,  Osman  !"  cried  Sitta  Nefysseh,  ex- 
tending her  arms  toward  heaven.  "  By  Allah  and  the  proph- 
ets, I  conjure  you,  go  not  to  sea  with  the  Turks  to-morrow  ! 
Listen  to  my  words,  Osman  !  I  have  devoted  servants  with 
those  whom  you  call  your  friends,  but  who  can  only  be  your 
enemies.  One  of  them  has  informed  me  of  their  purpose.  Be- 
fore the  harbor  of  Alexandria  lies  a  Turkish  fleet ;  it  lies  in 
wait  for  you,  and  your  boats  will  not  be  allowed  to  land  un- 
less freighted  with  your  dead  bodies  !  " 

"  This  is  not  possible,"  cried  the  bey,  recoiling  a  step  in  dis- 
may. "  They  cannot  have  planned  so  fearful  a  deception  ! 
They  cannot  be  so  faithless  !  Are  they  not  of  our  religion  ; 
were  the  prophet's  words  not  spoken  for  them  as  for  us  ?  Do 
they  not  know  that  it  is  written  in  the  Koran  :  '  Let  a  man 
hold  his  word  sacred  1  Curses  and  shame  upon  him  who  bears 
a  lie  on  his  lips,  and  yet  seals  it  with  the  name  of  Allah  and 
the  prophet ! '  No,  Sitta.  I  tell  you  the  capitan  pacha  sealed 
his  vow  of  friendship  with  the  name  of  Allah  and  the  prophet, 
and  the  settlement  of  the  details  only  was  wanting  to  establish 
this  bond  of  friendship  forever.  No,  Sitta,  it  is  impossible 
that  they  should  contemplate  such  fearful  treachery,  and 
rather  will  I  die  a  victim  of  such  treachery  than  cowardly  flee, 
than  consider  men  cowards,  and  warriors  scoundrels  !  " 

"  Then  you  and  yours  are  going  to  your  death,  Osman  Bey 
Bardissi  ! "  cried  Nefysseh  in  tones  of  anguish.  "  I  conjure 
you  once  more,  be  warned,  and,  if  you  will  not  depart  to-day, 
at  least  do  not  follow  the  capitan  pacha  to  the  festival,  but  em- 


THE   CAMP  AT  ABOUKIR.  257 

ploy  the  time  while  he  is  absent  in  preparing  to  defend  your- 
selves. And,  when  they  return,  refuse  to  allow  them  to  land 
until  they  consent  to  come  to  you  unarmed." 

Osman  Bey  shook  his  head  proudly  ;  and  his  countenance, 
before  troubled,  was  now  radiant  with  courage  and  joy.  ''  Sit- 
ta  Nefysseh,  your  noble  heart  is  concerned  for  your  friends, 
and  I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  all  of  us.  But  what  your 
womanly  sensitiveness  fears,  Osman  Bey  may  not  fear,  and  he 
must  not  show  the  Turks  that  he  distrusts  them  !  Allah 
watches  over  us  all,  and  his  will  must  be  fulfilled  !  Why 
should  we  fear  ?  " 

"•Yet  Allah  often  warns  us  in  our  dreams,  and  woe  to  us  if 
we  do  not  interpret  them  aright  ! "  said  Sitta  Nefysseh,  in 
tones  of  entreaty.  "  You  insist,  then,  on  going  to  Alexandria 
to-morrow  ? " 

"  It  is  so  determined,  Sitta,  and  a  man  keeps  his  word  ! " 
His  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  he  bowed  down  profoundly  be- 
fore her,  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  flowing  gold-embroidered 
dress. 

"  Then  may  Allah  accompany  you  !  "  said  she,  with  a  pro- 
found sigh.  "  But  let  me  say  one  thing  more.  When  you  be- 
hold my  husband  Mourad,  up  there,  among  the  blessed,  stand- 
ing under  the  green  flag  of  the  prophet,  say  to  him  :  '  Your 
wife  has  done  her  duty,  she  gave  Osman  the  warning  !  She 
is  innocent  of  our  death  ! '  and  say  to  him  also  that  his  wife 
remains  faithful  to  him  in  all  things,  and  that  she  will  love 
him  alone  throughout  life.  And  now,  farewell,  Osman  Bey 
Bardissi,  and  think  of  me  in  your  death-hour  !  " 

She  raised  her  hands  as  if  in  a  blessing,  and  then  turned 
slowly  away,  drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  stepped  out  of  the 
tent  to  where  her  slaves  and  eunuchs  awaited  her. 

Slowly  she  walked  down  the  pathway  between  the  tents, 
bowing  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  to  the  Mamelukes,  who 
threw  themselves  down  before  her  in  profound  reverence. 
But  when  she  passed  by  the  tents  of  the  Turks  she  veiled 
her  countenance  more  closely,  and  her  eyes  glanced  angrily 
through  the  delicate  fabric. 

"  Traitors  are  they  all  ! "  murmured  she,  as  she  entered  the 
tent  where  she  dwelt  with  the  women  of  Cousrouf,  the  second 


258  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

Mameluke  chieftain.  "  Yes,  traitors,  and  our  Mamelukes  will 
be  their  victims  !  Yet  I  will  endeavor  to  save  as  many  of 
them  as  possible  !  " 

While  Sitta  Nefysseh  sat  sorrowing  on  her  cushion,  paying 
but  little  attention  to  the  songs  which  the  slaves  sang,  and  to 
the  dances  with  which  they  sought  to  entertain  their  mistress, 
the  joyous  festivities  of  the  Mamelukes  and  Turks  were  still 
going  on.  Osman  Bey  had  promised  to  show  his  horseman- 
ship to-day  ;  and  it  was  a  beautiful  spectacle  to  see  him  cours- 
ing along  on  his  splendidly-caparisoned  black  charger,  his 
sword  uplifted  in  his  hand.  His  eyes  sparkled  even  more  lus- 
trously than  the  gems  in  the  agraffe  of  the  crescent  on  the 
sultan's  turban.  In  the  sash  that  encircled  his  waist  glittered 
a  pair  of  pistols  and  the  jewelled  hilt  of  a  dagger,  and  who- 
ever beheld  Osman  Bey  said  to  himself  :  "  This  is  a  man  !  a 
hero  who  recoils  from  nothing  !  "  Lightly  bounding,  his  nos- 
trils expanded,  his  eyes  glowing,  he  now  rode  his  steed  around 
the  wide  circle  of  Mamelukes  and  Turks.  With  uplifted 
sword  he  then  approached  the  horse  that  stood  tied  to  a  stake 
in  the  middle  of  the  circle.  Trembling,  and  neighing  anx- 
iously, it  saw  the  hero  bearing  down  upon  it  at  a  full  gallop  ; 
then  Osman's  sword  glittered  in  the  air,  and  the  horse's  head 
fell  to  the  ground,  severed  from  the  body  by  a  single  blow. 
Loud  and  exulting  shouts  rewarded  the  bold  rider  for  this 
proof  of  his  wonderful  skill  and  strength,  and  Osman  bowed 
smilingly  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  then  again  drew  in 
his  reins,  and  made  his  steed  bound  as  lightly  and  coquettishly 
as  though  it  had  learned  its  arts  from  the  bayaderes. 

Yes,  Osman  Bey  is  a  great  hero,  and  they  all  regard  him 
with  astonishment,  the  Mamelukes  with  joyous  smiles,  tho 
Turks  with  serious  countenances.  While  Osman  Bey  Bardissi 
lives,  peace  with  the  Turks  is  not  to  be  thought  of  ;  while  life 
lasts,  he  will  aspire  to  greater  eminence  and  power. 

"  How  can  peace  be  made  with  this  powerful,  haughty 
chieftain  ? "  This  is  also  murmured  by  the  capitan  pacha, 
who  stands  on  the  deck  of  the  admiral's  ship,  and  he  orders 
that  the  Turkish  ships  weigh  anchor,  and  sail  out  of  the  har- 
bor of  Alexandria.  Yes,  Sitta  Nefysseh  was  right :  the  enemy 
lies  in  wait  there.  Three  large  Turkish  ships  have  been  lying 


THE  MASSACRE.  259 

at  anchor  there  ever  since  the  Mameluke  beys  have  been  hold- 
ing fetes  with  the  Turks  at  Aboukir.  But  to-day  a  fourth  ship 
has  arrived  from  Stamboul — a  ship  manned  with  three  hun- 
dred well-equipped  soldiers  ;  and  her  captain's  name  is  Os- 
man,  and  his  lieutenant  is  called  Mohammed  Ali. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

THE  MASSACRE. 

THE  capitan  pacha  had  himself  come  over  in  his  admiral's 
ship  to  greet  the  newly  arrived  soldiers,  and  to  review  the  fleet 
of  stately  vessels-of-war.  He  graciously  caused  Osman,  the 
bim  bashi,  and  Mohammed  Ali,  the  boulouk  bashi,  to  be  pre- 
sented to  him. 

"  You  have  employed  the  time  well  during  your  passage," 
said  he,  slightly  inclining  his  proud  head.  "  You  have  con- 
verted rude  peasants  into  disciplined  soldiers." 

"It  is  not  my  work,"  replied  Osman,  who  stood  attired  in 
his  full  uniform  before  the  capitan  pacha.  "  No,  excellency, 
I  suffered  from  the  unaccustomed  sea-voyage,  and  could  hard- 
ly leave  my  cabin.  Mohammed  Ali  deserves  all  the  credit  ; 
he  drilled  the  soldiers  on  the  deck  incessantly,  day  and 
night." 

"  Well  done,  well  done  !  "  said  the  pacha.  "  His  services 
will  be  recognized  and  rewarded." 

"  I  beg  your  excellency  to  see  that  they  are,"  said  Osman, 
quickly.  "  Truly  my  boulouk  bashi  deserves  to  be  rewarded. 
I  should  like  to  take  the  liberty  of  suggesting  how  he  can  be 
rewarded." 

With  a  haughty  and  astonished  expression,  the  capitan 
pacha  regarded  the  young  man  that  stood  blushing  before 
him,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  unaccustomed  lustre.  He  con- 
sidered it  somewhat  presumptuous  to  advise  him,  the  capitan 
pacha.  Yet  this  is  not  a  time  to  be  ungracious.  The  newly- 
arrived  soldiers  are  to  be  used  this  very  day,  and  should  be 
kindly  and  cordially  treated. 


260  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Then  tell  me,  bim  bashi,  bow  can  I  reward  your  lieuten- 
ant ?  I  will  gladly  do  so,  if  it  is  in  my  power." 

u  You  bave  tbe  power,  if  you  have  the  will.  I  beg  you  to 
give  the  boulouk  bashi  my  position." 

"•  Give  him  your  position  !  And  what  is  to  become  of 
you  ? " 

"  Of  me  ? "  said  Osman,  smiling  sadly.  u  Only  what  I  have 
always  been — a  poor,  weak  invalid.  Cousrouf  Pacha,  our  dis- 
tinguished guest,  wished  to  show  me  a  kindness,  and,  with  this 
intention,  appointed  me  bim  bashi.  Yet  I  at  once  feared  that 
my  poor  body  would  not  be  able  to  bear  the  fatigues  of  the 
service.  I  am  weary  and  exhausted,  and  my  weak  arm  falls 
to  my  side  when  I  attempt  to  raise  the  sword.  I  beg  that 
your  excellency  will  graciously  permit  me  to  return  home 
with  the  ship  to  Cavalla,  after  the  soldiers  shall  have  been  dis- 
embarked. I  also  entreat  of  your  excellency  that  my  boulouk 
bashi  be  made  captain  in  my  stead." 

The  capitan  pacha  turned  and  looked  at  young  Mohammed 
Ali.  Perhaps  his  tall,  well-knit  frame,  and  his  earnest  coun- 
tenance, with  its  sparkling  eyes,  and  his  determined  bearing, 
impressed  him  favorably. 

"Bim  bashi,  we  will  see  what  can  be  done.  It  will  de- 
pend chiefly  on  the  events  of  this  day,  and  I  will  observe 
your  boulouk  bashi  closely.  If  he  proves  capable  of  do- 
ing well  what  I  shall  require  of  him,  I  give  you  my  word 
he  shall  be  made  bim  bashi,  and  you  shall  then  be  per- 
mitted to  return  to  your  home.  I  will,  however,  first  ob- 
serve your  boulouk  bashi,  and  see  of  what  stuff  he  is  made. 
— I  have  orders  for  you,  boulouk  bashi.  But  first  tell  me 
your  name." 

"  I  am  called  Mohammed  Ali,  son  of  Ibrahim  Aga,"  replied 
Mohammed,  inclining  his  head  with  an  expression  of  such 
profound  reverence  that  the  proud  capitan  pacha  was  well 
pleased,  and  smiled  graciously. 

"  Mohammed  Ali,  son  of  Ibrahim  Aga,  step  aside  with  me  ; 
I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  pacha  walked  to  the  end  of  the  deck,  motioning  to  the 
two  slaves  who  accompanied  him  to  withdraw  ;  he  then  turned 
to  Mohammed,  who  stood  before  him,  his  head  bowed  down  in 


THE   MASSACRE.  261 

humility,  his  ear  all  attention  to  the  words  spoken  by  the 
pacha,  in  low,  impressive  tones. 

Important  words,  of  great  and  dangerous  import,  must  they 
have  been,  that  fell  slowly  one  after  the  other,  like  drops  of 
blood  from  the  pacha's  lips,  for,  from  time  to  time,  a  deathly 
pallor  overspread  Mohammed  Ali's  cheeks,  and  a  slight  shud- 
der coursed  through  his  whole  being.  The  pacha  looked  at 
him  keenly,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  One  can  see  that  you  are 
a  novice." 

''Yes,  a  novice,"  replied  Mohammed,  "but  I  shall  soon 
become  accustomed  to  blood,  and  cease  to  recoil  from  dead 
bodies." 

"Then  you  will  achieve  success  in  Egypt,"  said  the  pacha. 
"  The  air  here  is  freighted  with  the  scent  of  corpses,  and  the 
sea  and  the  Nile  have  often  been  reddened  with  blood.  We 
will  see,  boulouk  bashi,  if  the  waves  at  our  feet  are  not  once 
more  made  red  with  blood,  and  not  with  the  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  And  now,  boulouk  bashi,  it  will  be  shown  whether 
you  have  understood  what  I  have  said,  and  whether  you  are 
the  man  to  execute  my  orders." 

"'  I  am  your  servant,  excellency,"  replied  Mohammed,  quiet- 
ly. "  The  soldier  has  no  will  of  his  own.  I  am  an  instru- 
ment in  your  bands,  and  I  will  faithfully  carry  out  your  or- 
ders." 

"  Then  you  will  awaken  to-morrow  as  him  bashi.  And  I 
believe  that  will  only  be  the  first  step  toward  the  fame  that 
awaits  you.  I  like  you,  boulouk  bashi,  and  I  wish  you  a  bril- 
liant career.  And  when  you  shall  have  reached  the  summit 
of  renown,  then  remember,  boulouk  bashi,  that  it  was  I  who 
gave  you  the  key  to  the  gates  of  honor.  Remember  the  day 
and  the  hour,  for  I  have  read  a  great  future  in  your  counte- 
nance." 

He  then  inclined  his  head  to  Mohammed  Ali,  and  returned 
to  where  Osman  was  standing,  leaning  against  a  mast,  in  utter 
exhaustion. 

The  pacha  also  spoke  a  few  kindly  words  to  him,  and  after- 
ward entered  his  boat  to  return  to  the  shore  of  Aboukir.  Mo- 
hammed then  walked  up  to  his  friend,  took  him  in  his  arms 
like  a  child,  and  carried  him  down  into  his  cabin.  He  laid 


262  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

him  on  the  divan,  knelt  down  beside  him,  and  whispered  in 
his  ear  :  "  Osman,  no  matter  what  you  may  see  or  hear,  do 
not  leave  your  cabin  to-day.  Stay  here,  my  friend,  and  do 
not  be  anxious  ;  if  you  hear  a  tumultuous  noise,  and  outcries, 
do  not  be  alarmed,  even  if  death-groans  should  resound  from 
the  deck.  The  world  is  a  hard  thing,  and  he  whose  hands  are 
not  of  iron  should  hold  himself  aloof  from  its  rude  contact. 
You,  my  Osman,  are  too  good  to  play  an  active  rdle  in  this 
miserable  earthly  existence  ;  and  I  am,  therefore,  almost  glad 
that  you  are  to  return  to  Cavalla  ;  I  repeat  it,  you  are  too 
good  for  this  world." 

"If  it  depended  on  goodness,  Mohammed,"  said  Osman, 
smiling,  "  you  should  not  serve  the  world  either,  for  you  have 
a  better  heart  than  any  of  us." 

Mohammed  shook  his  head.  "  You  are  mistaken,  you  look 
at  me  with  your  kindly  eyes,  and  give  me  credit  for  your  no- 
ble thoughts.  I  am  not  good,  no,  do  not  believe  .that  of  me  ! 
Now  that  we  are  about  to  separate,  I  do  not  wish  you  to  be  de- 
ceived in  your  Mohammed  Ali  ;  I  am  only  good  when  with 
you,  and  under  the  influence  of  your  gentle  nature  ;  I  fear  I 
have  the  stuff  in  me  of  which  hard  and  cruel  men  are  made. 
But  let  us  drop  this  subject.  Duty  calls  me  away.  And  let 
me  repeat  this,  Osman,  whatever  outcries  you  may  hear,  what- 
ever fearful  noises  may  resound  through  your  cabin,  remain 
quietly  here  ;  remain  here  in  peace,  my  Osman.  The  pack 
will  soon  be  let  loose,  and  your  Mohammed,  whom  you  call 
good,  has  been  chosen  by  Fate  to  howl  with  it,  and  make  com- 
mon cause  with  the  bloodhounds.  Do  not  speak,  Osman. 
Through  blood  must  I  march  onward  to  my  goal !  There  is 
no  other  road.  Farewell,  and  remain  here." 

He  ascended  hastily  to  the  deck,  called  the  soldiers  together, 
spoke  to  them  for  a  long  time  in  low,  impressive  tones,  and 
issued  his  orders.  They  listened  attentively  to  his  words,  and 
then  hastily  began  to  carry  out  his  orders.  They  load  their 
guns,  try  the  locks,  and  then  repair  to  the  port-holes  on  the 
lower  deck,  and  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to  fire  at  the 
word  of  command. 

There  is  to  be  a  merry  chase  to-day.  But  after  what  game  ? 
Who  has  seen  it  ?  No  one  knows  as  yet. 


THE   MASSACRE.  263 

The  boulouk  bashi  will  give  the  signal,  and  when  he  says 
"  Fire  !  "  they  will  fire,  no  matter  at  what  or  at  whom.  The 
command  will  be  given,  and  they  will  obey.  It  will  be  their 
first  deed  of  arms,  their  baptism  of  fire. 

The  hour  has  not  yet  come.  Mohammed  is  standing  on  the 
deck  above,  leaning  against  the  mast,  his  arms  crossed  on  his 
breast,  looking  over  toward  the  shores  of  Aboukir. 

There  all  is  gayety  ;  the  decorated  boats  dance  merrily  and 
rapidly  over  the  waves  ;  the  Mameluke  beys  are  going  by  sea 
to  Alexandria,  to  take  part  in  the  festival  of  the  newly-arrived 
admiral.  There  will  be  warlike  games  and  races  ;  a  grand 
banquet  is  prepared  for  the  guests  ;  there  will  be  music,  danc- 
ing, and  singing  ;  altogether  it  will  be  a  most  brilliant  festi- 
val. The  Mameluke  beys  esteem  themselves  happy  in  having 
been  invited  by  the  capitan  pacha  to  take  part  in  this  glorious 
festival.  To-morrow  peace  will  be  concluded  between  them 
and  the  grand-sultan.  To-morrow  their  lands  will  be  given 
them  and  the  boundaries  determined,  but  let  to-day  be  a,f£te* 
day,  a  day  of  rejoicing. 

Mourad's  widow,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  is  standing  at  the  entrance 
of  her  tent,  her  countenance  closely  veiled,  looking  at  the 
Mamelukes  who  are  going  down  to  the  shore  to  their  boats. 
She  sees  that  the  Turks  stand  aside,  and  that  only  the  Mame- 
lukes enter  the  boats. 

"You  are  not  going  with  us  ? "  ask  the  astonished  beys  of 
their  Turkish  friends.  They  shake  their  heads,  and  only  step 
farther  back  from  the  shore. 

"No,  ye  proud  beys,  this  honor  is  for  you  alone,  you  alone 
go  with  the  capitan,  you  alone  are  invited  to  attend  the  grand 
festival  of  the  English  admiral,  Lord  Hutchinson.  We  re- 
main here  to  await  longingly  your  return,  in  order  that  you 
may  tell  us  of  the  brilliant  festival.  We  remain  here  !  " 

"  They  remain,"  repeated  Sitta  Nefysseh  ;  "  they  remain  be- 
cause death  goes  with  the  others  in  their  boats.  O  Osman 
Bardissi !  why  would  you  not  hearken  to  my  words  ?  I  shall 
remain  also,  to  await  our  dead." 

In  the  large,  richly-decorated  boat,  stood  the  capitan  pacha, 
and  beside  him  the  chief  Mameluke  beys  ;  among  them  are 
Osman  Bardissi,  the  hero,  the  favorite  of  all  the  women,  and 


264  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

Osman  Tamboudji,  now  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  all 
the  beys.  These  two,  especially,  have  been  invited  by  the 
capitan  to  sail  with  him  in  his  boat,  and  while  with  him  what 
have  they  to  fear  ? 

Sitta  Nefysseh  murmurs  to  herself  : 

"He  takes  them  into  his  boat  in  order  to  deceive  them. 
This  is  surely  to  conceal  some  trickery,  and  when  the  boat 
lands  at  Alexandria,  the  capitan  pacha  will  not  be  with  the 
Mameluke  beys." 

The  Mamelukes  have  entered  the  boats  joyously,  and  joy- 
ously they  sail  out  over  the  waves,  toward  the  shores  of  Alex- 
andria. 

The  day  is  beautiful,  and  the  sunshine  glitters  upon  the 
water  ;  laughter  and  jesting  resound  from  every  boat ;  but 
now,  when  Osman  Bardissi  begins  to  sing  a  warlike  song,  all 
are  silent  and  listen  attentively.  He  sings  words  with  which 
he  has  often  led  his  hosts  out  to  battle.  And  the  rest,  at  the 
•end  of  each  verse  of  the  glorious  old  song,  shout  exultingly 
from  boat  to  boat,  and  unite  in  the  joyous  chorus  : 

"  The  bey  lifts  high  his  sword,  and  down  it  sweeps  upon 
his  proud  foe's  head  !  Down  swoops  the  bey,  and  raises  high 
in  air  the  severed  head,  and,  when  he  homeward  rides,  the 
head  hangs  dangling  at  his  saddle's  side  ! " 

"  A  beautiful,  a  glorious  song  !  "  exclaims  the  capitan,  as  it 
is  ended,  and  its  last  accords  resound  over  the  waters. 

But  what  is  this  ?  A  strong  boat  is  approaching,  the 
admiral's  boat  of  some  strange  vessel  that  has  probably  only 
just  arrived  in  the  harbor.  Signals  are  given  in  the  boat,  and 
a  flag  is  waved.  The  flag  proclaims  what  the  capitan 
expected.  The  young  boulouk  bashi,  who  stands  in  the 
admiral's  boat,  holds  up  a  folded  paper.  It  is  an  official  letter, 
the  large  red  seals  that  hang  from  it  by  silken  strings  show  it 
to  be  such.  The  capitan  pacha  calls  the  attention  of  the  Mame- 
luke beys  to  the  boat  now  rapidly  approaching. 

"  Alas,  the  service  leaves  one  no  time,  not  even  a  short 
hour,  for  recreation  and  merrymaking.  See.  here  comes 
another  messenger  !  What  can  he  want  ?  The  capitan  pasha 
is,  after  all,  a  mere  servant.  See !  The  messenger  holds  the 
paper  higher  and  beckons  to  me.  No,  he  shall  not  break  in 


THE  MASSACRE.  265 

upon  the  joy  of  our  festival  with  his  presence  !  This  beau- 
tiful boat  shall  not  be  desecrated  with  business  matters  ! 
Come  closer,  and  I  will  get  into  your  boat  and  read  the 
letter." 

"  But  after  you  have  read  it,  capitan  Pacha,"  says  Osman 
Bardissi,  in  a  frank,  kindly  voice,  "after  you  have  read  it 
and  have  disposed  of  this  annoying  business  matter,  you 
will  come  back  to  our  boat,  will  you  not  ?  we  will  wait  for 
you." 

u  Yes,  wait  for  me  !  But  it  may,  after  all,  be  necessary  for 
me  to  return,  to  attend  to  some  important  affairs  with  my 
officials,  instead  of  enjoying  myself  with  you.  Therefore  you 
had  best  go  on,  my  friends,  and,  if  Allah  permits  me  to  join 
you  in  your  festivities  to-day,  I  will  hoist  a  signal,  and  you 
can  stop  for  me  and  take  me  in  again."  The  capitan  then 
steps  into  the  strange  boat.  The  two  proud  beys  see  him 
take  the  paper  from  the  hands  of  the  stranger  boulouk  bashi, 
break  the  seals,  and  read  it. 

With  his  eagle  glance,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi  observes  that 
the  capitan  pacha's  countenance  becomes  gradually  clouded  as 
he  reads. 

"  He  will  not  have  time  to  return  to  us,"  says  Tamboudji 
Bey,  who  stands  at  his  side.  "  It  seems  that  grave  intelligence 
has  reached  him.  Yes,  it  is  so,"  the  boat  being  rapidly  rowed 
toward  the  admiral's  ship.  "But  look,  Osman  Bey  !  "  he  cries, 
in  alarm,  as  he  raises  his  arm  and  points  to  the  departing 
boat,  "  look,  there  are  swords  in  the  boat  ! " 

"  Yes,  I  see  !  Swords,  Turkish  swords  !  What  are  they  in 
there  for  ? " 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  replies  the  other, 
nervously  grasping  the  pistol  in  his  girdle.  "  See,  a  ship  is 
rapidly  approaching,  and  the  capitan  is  steering  toward  it ! 
But  that  is  not  his  ship  !  Where  does  it  come  from  ?  What 
is  it  doing  here  ?  " 

The  countenance  of  the  Mameluke  chieftains  is  now 
threatening.  They  observe  the  ship,  rapidly  approaching, 
with  an  eagle's  glance.  They  see  the  capitan  ascend  its  side  ; 
they  see  the  portholes  filled  with  glittering  muskets. 

"  Treachery  !    This  is  treachery  1 "  cries  Bardissi. 
18 


266  MOIIAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

And  he  turns  toward  the  other  boats,  and  cries  out  to  them  : 
"  Grasp  your  swords  and  prepare  to  defend  yourselves.  We 
are  betrayed.  The  capitan  pacha  has  deceived  us,  and " — a 
ball  whistling  close  by  his  ear  at  this  moment — "  to  your  swords 
and  pistols,  my  friends ;  the  enemy  and  treachery  are 
upon  us  ! " 

The  Turks  are  rowing  rapidly  down  upon  them  in  their 
boats,  while  volleys  of  musketry  are  being  discharged  at  them 
from  the  ship  that  is  approaching  nearer  and  nearer,  follow- 
ing the  Turkish  troops  that  man  the  boats. 

"  Onward,"  cries  Bardissi  to  his  followers.  "  Onward  ! 
We  may  escape.  We  may,  if  we  make  every  effort,  succeed 
in  reaching  Alexandria." 

With  the  speed  of  the  wind  the  boats  sweep  onward,  and 
now  turn  into  the  bay  of  Aboukir. 

The  Mamelukes  all  cry,  "  Treachery  !  treachery  ! "  and 
every  one  sees  the  three  Turkish  ships  bearing  down  upon 
them  from  the  front,  while  the  boats  and  the  strange  vessel 
are  coming  upon  them  from  the  rear.  From  that  direction 
comes  the  order,  "  Fire  !  fire  !  " 

"Death-shrieks  resound  everywhere  among  the  boats.  But 
the  proud  Mamelukes  are  at  least  resolved  to  sell  their  lives 
dearly.  They  reply  from  their  boats  to  the  shots.  Now  the 
enemy's  boats  are  among  them,  and  a  murderous  but  unequal 
conflict  rages.  The  three  men-of-war  send  whole  volleys 
into  the  boats  of  the  Mamelukes. 

"  Of  what  use  to  fire  their  pistols,  how  can  they  reload 
them  ?  Of  what  avail  to  draw  their  swords  against  the  over- 
whelming foe  ? 

They  can  only  die,  and  die  they  must.  The  flower  of  the 
hero-beys  was  gathered  together  in  these  boats,  and  is  now 
being  stamped  under  foot — is  perishing,  the  victim  of 
infamous  treachery. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  looks  on  in  horror  from  where  she  lies  on 
the  shore  of  Aboukir.  With  outstretched  arms  she  implores 
Allah  for  mercy,  for  revenge  ;  and  now,  as  the  volleys  of 
artillery  resound  over  the  waters,  she  cries  in  earnest,  piercing 
tones  : 

"  O  Mourad,  my  husband  !  thou  who  art  at  Allah's  side  ; 


THE   MASSACRE.  267 

thou  who  seost  this  treachery,  implore  vengeance  upon  the 
enemy  ! '' 

Yes,  she  prays  to  Allah  and  the  prophet  for  vengeance. 
But  while  she  prays,  the  blood  of  the  Mamelukes  is  flowing  in 
streams,  saturating  the  costly  carpets  in  the  boats,  and  begin- 
ning to  color  the  surrounding  water. 

A  cry  of  rage  resounds  from  Bardissi's  lips.  His  friend 
Osman  Tamboudji  has  just  been  stretched  out  at  his  feet 
by  a  ball.  He  has  thrown  away  his  pistol,  and  now 
grasps  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  when  he  is  suddenly  stricken 
down  by  a  blow  upon  the  head,  dealt  from  behind.  The 
vessels  have  completely  surrounded  the  Mamelukes  ;  the 
Turks  on  the  ships  jump  down  into  the  boats  to  assist 
the  others,  and  the  work  of  slaughter  is  soon  ended.  All 
is  now  still.  Those  who  are  not  dead  lie  severely  wounded 
in  the  boats.  The  Turks  return  to  their  vessels,  and  the 
boulouk  bashi  orders  the  wounded  to  be  brought  on 
board. 

The  order  is  executed  ;  the  dead  are  left  in  the  boats,  and 
the  wounded  are  carried  on  board. 

They  now  lift  up  the  wounded  man  who  lies  beside  the 
dead  bey.  in  the  large  boat  in  which  they  had  first  seen  the 
capitan  standing  with  the  two  beys. 

"  Bring  him  up  the  ladder,"  cries  the  boulouk  bashi. 

He  is  unconscious,  and  is  bleeding  from  three  wounds. 
But  even  in  this  condition  he  still  grasps  his  dagger  so  firmly 
that  it  cannot  be  torn  from  his  hand,  and  as  the  soldiers 
attempt  it  he  awakens  and  opens  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  treacherous  scoundrels,  all  of  you  !  Osman  Bey 
Bardissi  declares  you  to  be  such." 

The  boulouk  bashi  starts  as  he  hears  this  name,  steps  for- 
ward and  gazes  long  and  earnestly  at  the  bey,  whom  he  had 
once  seen  as  a  boy. 

Must  he  meet  him  now  in  this  condition  ?  His  gaze  is 
fixed  on  him,  and  he  tries  to  recognize  in  his  features  the  boy 
of  former  days. 

"You  are  scoundrels  ! "  cries,  for  the  second  time,  the  proud 
chieftain.  "Ye  slaves  of  bloody  tyranny — ye  murderous, 
treacherous  villains — shame  and  disgrace  upon  you  all  ! 


268  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

Before  Allah's  throne  will  I  accuse  you,  ye  treacherous,  slav- 
ish Turks." 

With  cries  of  rage  they  throw  themselves  upon  him  to 
strangle  him. 

But  an  arm  hurls  them  back  with  a  giant's  strength. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  murder  those  who  can  no  longer  defend 
themselves  ?  Back  !  The  life  of  the  wounded,  of  the  van- 
quished enemy,  is  sacred." 

Bardissi,  who  has  again  fallen  back  exhausted,  looks  up  in 
astonishment  at  the  stranger  who  protected  him,  and  was  even 
angry  with  his  own  soldiers  on  his  account.  How  comes  it 
that  this  traitor's  heart  is  touched  ? 

Mohammed  kneels  down  beside  him. 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  asks  he,  in  low  tones. 

"  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,"  replied  the  wounded  man,  and  now, 
exhausted  as  he  was  from  loss  of  blood,  a  proud  smile  flittered 
over  his  handsome  countenance.  "Not  knowing  me,  you 
must  be  a  stranger  in  Egypt,"  added  he. 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  stranger  in  Egypt,  and  this  accounts  for  my 
not  knowing  you.  Yet,  it  seems  to  me  that  we  once  met ; 
were  you  not  once  on  the  shores  of  the  bay  of  Sta.  Marmora  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  was  once  there  !  " 

"  Do  you  recollect  meeting  a  boy  there  ?  You  spoke  to  him 
of  your  proud  future." 

u  I  remember,"  murmured  the  bey. 

"•  And  you  spoke  proud,  contemptuous  words  to  this  boy. 
Do  you  still  remember  his  name  ? " 

"  I  do  ;  he  was  called  Mohammed  Ali,  and  I  told  him  my 
name,  Osman  Bey.  Were  you  the  boy  ? " 

"  I  was,  and  there  we  first  met,  and  now  we  meet  again.  1 
regret,  Osman  Bey,  that  we  meet  as  enemies." 

Osman  Bey  Bardissi  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  We  were 
enemies,  Mohammed  Ali ;  yet,  if  Allah  permits  me  to  live,  you 
shall  soon  learn  that  you  have  found  a  friend.  I  well  know 
that  I  owe  you  my  life,  and  I  shall  be  grateful  while  life  lasts." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  again  lost  consciousness. 

Mohammed  beckoned  to  one  of  the  soldiers  to  approach. 
"  Carry  this  man  to  my  cabin,  and  let  no  one  dare  to  touch 
him  with  a  rude  hand.  He  is  my  prisoner." 


RESTITUTION.  269 

CHAPTER  VII. 

RESTITUTION. 

"OUR  Mamelukes  have  been  treacherously  slaughtered, 
murdered  !  They  have  been  lured  out  upon  the  water  near 
Aboukir  in  their  boats,  and  then  fired  upon  by  murderous 
huntsmen  as  though  they  were  a  flock  of  pigeons.  If  you  are 
an  honest  and  brave  man,  general,  proved  by  mercifully  es- 
pousing the  cause  of  those  who  were  lured  to  destruction  in 
your  name — yes,  in  your  name,  General  Hutchinson — yes,  it 
devolves  upon  you,  and  your  honor  requires  that  you  compel 
them,  to  yield  up  the  wounded  and  the  dead." 

Thus  lamented  Sitta  Nefysseh  as  she  knelt  before  General 
Hutchinson,  her  arms  extended  in  wild  entreaty.  She  had 
come  over  to  Alexandria  from  Aboukir,  and  she  it  was  who 
first  brought  the  intelligence  of  the  fearful  event  that  had  oc- 
curred, who  first  announced  to  the  English  general  that  the 
beys  had  fallen  victims  to  infamous  treachery. 

The  general,  incensed  at  this  shameful  abuse  of  confidence, 
immediately  dispatched  two  of  his  adjutants  to  the  capitan 
pacha,  to  demand  an  explanation  and  call  him  to  account  for 
the  outrage. 

The  pacha  was,  however,  not  to  be  found.  "  They  did  not 
know  where  he  had  gone,''  was  the  reply  ;  "  but  Lord  Hutch- 
in  son's  message  should  be  conveyed  to  him  as  soon  as  possible, 
and  he  would  certainly  send  some  one  to  the  general  who 
would  give  satisfactory  explanations  of  the  affair." 

Soon  afterward  a  boat  came  to  shore,  and  the  boulouk  bashi, 
Mohammed  Ali,  demanded,  in  the  name  of  the  capitan  pacha, 
to  be  conducted  to  the  presence  of  the  English  general.  With 
an  air  of  profound  deference  and  humility,  he  delivered  the 
message  of  the  capitan  pacha,  and  expressed  his  own  regret  of 
the  fearful  event  that  had  occurred. 

'•  It  was  a  misunderstanding.  I  myself  was  to  blame  for  it, 
and  bow  in  humility  before  your  just  anger  !  The  capitan 
pacha  had  commanded  me  to  arrest  the  rebellious  Mameluke 
beys,  and  bring  them  on  board  the  admiral's  ship,  in  order 


270  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

that  they  might  be  conveyed  to  Stamboul.  His  orders  were, 
that  no  resistance  should  be  tolerated,  and  that  severe 
measures  should  be  adopted  at  the  first  manifestation  of  vio- 
lence on  their  part.  Sir,  such  manifestations  were  not  want- 
ing, and  I  had  no  sooner  come  near  the  boats  which  contained 
the  rebellious  Mameluke  beys,  when  they  grasped  their  arms, 
and  threatened  us  with  wild  gestures.  We  fought  for  life, 
general,  not  knowing  that  our  lives  were,  in  your  estimation, 
as  nothing  to  those  mighty,  renowned  Mameluke  beys.  We 
fought  for  our  lives,  as  they  did  theirs  ;  and,  if  the  Mamelukes 
were  vanquished  in  this  conflict,  it  was,  it  seems  to  me,  Allah's 
will.  Yet,  I  beg  pardon  for  what  has  happened,  and  repeat,  in 
the  name  of  the  capitan  pacha,  it  was  a  misunderstanding — oh, 
sir,  a  deplorable  misunderstanding  !  " 

The  general  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  glanced  angrily  at 
the  quiet,  defiant  countenance  of  the  young  officer. 

"  A  very  welcome  misunderstanding  it  seems  to  have  been 
to  all  of  you.  A  misunderstanding  you  call  it ;  and  did  you 
not  know  that  I,  Lord  Hutchinson,  had  pledged  my  word  to 
the  Mameluke  beys  that  their  lives  should  not  be  endan- 
gered ?  Did  you  not  know  that  they  had  come  to  me  to  in- 
quire whether  they  could  safely  trust  the  Turks,  and  that  I,  in 
my  blindness,  had  said  to  them  :  '  You  can  safely  trust  them  ; 
they  are  men  of  honor,  and  they  have  solemnly  pledged  their 
word  for  your  security  ? '  You  have  broken  the  holy  law  of 
your  prophet,  of  hospitality,  and  have  betrayed  those  to  whom 
/ou  had  extended  the  hand  of  friendship." 

"  Not  so,  general,  by  Allah  !  Of  such  a  crime  I  could  not 
be  guilty,"  replied  Mohammed,  quietly.  "  I  bi'oke  no  bread, 
and  exchanged  no  vows  of  friendship,  with  the  Mamelukes. 
I  have  only  just  arrived  from  a  distant  land,  and  know  noth- 
ing of  your  enmities  or  friendships.  My  orders  were,  to  ar- 
rest the  Mamelukes,  and  bring  them  fettered  to  the  admiral's 
ship.  If  I  misunderstood  the  order,  I  was  wrong,  but  no  such 
crime  burdens  my  soul,  and  I  cannot  be  justly  accused  of 
broken  faith  or  treachery.  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  I 
submit  humbly  to  your  displeasure,  and  can  only  repeat  that 
I  deplore  the  misunderstanding." 

"  Your  quiet,  defiant  bearing  is,  it  seems  to  me,  inconsist- 


RESTITUTION.  071 

ent  with  your  words.  I  deplore  this  treachery,  and  deplore  it 
doubly,  because  my  assurances  lulled  the  beys  into  a  sense  of 
security.  But  I  tell  you  I  will  have  justice,  satisfaction  for 
this  outrage  ;  I  will  call  you  all  to  account.  Go  to  your  mas- 
ter and  say  to  him,  in  my  name,  that  his  treatment  of  the 
Mameluke  beys  has  been  treacherous." 

u  Pardon  me,"  replied  the  boulouk  bashi,  composedly,  "  but 
perhaps  your  excellency  does  not  know  what  commands  re- 
specting these  Mameluke  beys  were  given  the  capitan  pacha 
by  his  master,  by  the  Sublime  Porte." 

"  I  read  in  your  countenance  what  the  stiltan's  intentions 
and  commands  were,  and  see  it  in  what  has  occurred.  It  is 
his  purpose  to  destroy  the  Mamelukes,  Avhom  he  has  entrapped 
with  flattering  words  and  loving  promises.  But  it  shall  not 
be  done  while  I  am  here.  I  demand  justice  and  satisfaction 
for  myself.  Let  the  world  pronounce  you  Turks  liars  and 
traitors,  but  the  same  shall  not  he  said  of  me  and  my  people  ! 
I  have  pledged  my  word  and  the  honor  of  England  for  the 
safety  of  the  Mamelukes,  and,  though  I  cannot  recall  the  dead 
to  life,  I  will  at  least  care  for  the  living.  Go  to  your  master 
and  tell  him  this  :  '  Lord  Hutchinson  demands  that  all  the 
captured  Mameluke  beys  be  immediately  brought  to  the  shore 
and  placed  under  his  protection.  Lord  Hutchinson  insists 
that  they  be  at  once  set  at  liberty,  and  that  they  shall  not  be 
regarded  as  prisoners  of  the  grand-sultan.'  " 

"  Excellency,  it  will  he  very  difficult  to  comply  with  your 
demands,"  replied  Mohammed.  "  An  alternative  has  just 
been  offered  the  prisoners.  I  was  present,  and  can  vouch  for 
it — they  were  to  choose  between  death  by  the  sword  and  sub- 
mission. Not  one  of  the  beys,  however,  chose  to  die  rather 
than  submit.  They  swore  on  the  holy  Koran  that  they  would 
remain  the  prisoners  of  the  Turks,  and  make  no  effort  to  have 
themselves  demanded  back  by  the  English,  and,  as  they  have 
nevertheless  done  so,  and  sent  to  you,  they  have  broken  their 
holy  oath." 

"  They  have  not  done  so,"  replied  Lord  Hutchinson.  "  I 
heard  of  this  infamous  treachery  by  other  means  ;  others  in- 
formed me  of  what  has  occurred.  I  am,  therefore,  entirely 
justified  in  making  my  demand  ;  moreover,  the  oath  obtained 


272  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

from  them  by  the  threat  of  death  is  valueless.  I  insist  that 
the  Mamelukes  who  are  still  alive  be  delivered  over  to 
me,  and  the  dead  also,  in  order  that  I  may  count  them  and 
assure  myself  that  none  have  been  kept  back  as  prisoners. 
Go,  and  tell  your  master  this,  and  say  to  him  that  a  refusal  on 
his  part  will  be  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of  war  by  England. 
My  ships  lie  at  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Alexandria  awaiting 
his  decision,  and  they  are  ready  for  war.  Tell  this  to  the 
capitan  pacha." 

With  a  respectful  inclination  of  the  head  Mohammed  with- 
drew, and,  returning  to  his  boat,  was  rapidly  conveyed  on 
board  the  admiral's  ship,  where  the  capitan  pacha  awaited 
him. 

The  latter  listened  attentively  to  the  report  of  the  boulouk 
bashi,  and  inclined  his  head  graciously  when  told  that  he 
had  taken  the  sole  responsibility  upon  himself,  and  had  at- 
tributed the  much-to-be-regretted-occurrence  to  a  misunder- 
standing. 

"You  did  well,"  said  the  capitan  pacha.  "Why  should 
we  not  appear  to  regret  this  deed  of  bloodshed,  now  that  it  is 
accomplished  ?  Why  not  deplore  that  which  is  irrevocable  ? 
Death  holds  fast  to  its  victims.  The  living,  we  must,  how- 
ever, deliver  over  to  the  stormy  Englishman,  as  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  take  upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  a  war  with  Eng- 
land. Moreover,  I  shall  be  well  pleased  to  leave  this  place. 
My  work  is  done.  Let  the  newly  appointed  viceroy  see  what 
he  can  do  with  these  Mamelukes.  Egypt  is  dripping  with 
blood,  and  the  atmosphere  of  this  land  is  freighted  with  the 
scent  of  corpses.  I  can  no  longer  endure  it,  and  am  about  to 
return  to  beautiful,  sunny  Stamboul.  Let  my  last  deed  be  to 
comply  with  the  demand  of  this  haughty  Englishman.  Have 
the  wounded  put  into  the  boats,  Bim  Bashi  Mohammed  Ali  ; 
you  understand  me — I  call  you  him  bashi.  You  may  inform 
your  friend.  Bim  Bashi  Osman.  that  his  request  is  granted  ;  you 
will  take  his  place,  and  it  rests  with  you  to  make  it  the  step- 
ping-stone to  future  greatness.  I  believe  such  will  be  the 
case,  for  I  can  read  your  soul  in  your  eyes  ;  and  this  one  thing, 
it  seems  to  me,  you  still  have  to  learn  :  to  keep  your  eyes 
from  betraying  your  thoughts.  Remember  that  this  is  essen- 


RESTITUTION.  273 

tial  to  success.  And  now,  you  may  have  the  prisoners  con- 
veyed to  the  shore.  Lord  Hutchinson  shall  count  the  living, 
and  the  dead,  too  ;  not  one  of  his  favorites  shall  be  withheld  ! 
When  this  is  done,  him  bashi,  return  to  the  ship  on  which  you 
came.  Are  the  soldiers  disembarked  ? " 

"  Yes,  excellency,  and  already,  I  believe,  on  the  inarch  to 
Cairo." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  pacha  ;  "  let  them  figure  at  the 
grand  entrance  of  the  viceroy  into  Cairo.  I  will  intrust  you 
with  a  message  to  his  highness,  and  will  recommend  you  to 
him  as  a  useful  man.  Cousrouf  Pacha  has  need  of  such 
men." 

Mohammed  started  at  the  mention  of  this  name,  but  quick- 
ly recovered  his  composure,  and  bowed  his  head  in  gratitude. 

"  You  make  me  happy,  indeed  !  You  will  send  me  to  Cous- 
rouf Pacha.  I  thank  you,  for  it  has  long  been  my  most  ardent 
wish  to  be  in  his  service." 

"  It  has  long  been  your  wish  ! "  said  the  capitan  pacha, 
in  surprise.  "I  thought  you  had  only  been  here  a  short 
time  ? " 

"  True,  excellency,  yet  I  have  heard  much  of  the  great 
Cousrouf  Pacha  in  my  distant  home,  and  to  serve  him  was 
my  most  ardent  wish.  I  swear,  capitan  pacha,  that  I  will 
serve  him  as  my  heart  prompts." 

"  But  then  it  depends  on  what  your  heart  prompts,"  said 
the  pacha,  casting  a  long,  searching  glance  at  the  pale  coun- 
tenance of  the  young  bim  bashi.  "  The  tone  in  which  you 
say  this  has  a  strange  ring,  and  sounds  almost  like  a  threat  ! 
Yet,  deal  with  his  highness,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  as  you  think 
proper,  and  serve  him  as  your  heart  prompts.  I  will  recom- 
mend you  to  him.  We  are  good  friends,  the  viceroy  and  I, 
very  good  friends,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  sadden  him  to 
see  me  escape  out  of  this  confusion,  which  will  require  bold 
and  fearless  management  at  his  hands.  I  go  to  Stamboul,  you 
go  to  Cousrouf  Pacha  to  serve  him — to  serve  him  as  your 
heart  prompts,  you  say  ? " 

"  Yes,  excellency,  as  my  heart  prompts,  in  humility  and 
devotion." 

"  Now  you  may  go  ;   I  will  furnish  you  with  a  written 


274:  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

testimonial,  and  warmly  recommend  you  to  the  viceroy,  as  I 
have  promised." 

He  dismissed  the  young  him  bashi  with  a  gracious  inclina- 
tion of  the  head,  and  the  latter  returned  to  his  ship  to  see  that 
the  prisoners  were  conveyed  to  the  shore.  He  walked  beside 
Osman  Bey  Bardissi  as  he  was  being  carried  down  on  a 
stretcher  to  a  boat,  by  four  soldiers,  speaking  kind,  consoling 
words  to  the  wounded  man,  and  expressing  the  hope  that 
Allah,  in  his  mercy,  would  soon  restore  him  to  health,  as  his 
injuries  were  light. 

Bardissi  gazed  at  him  fixedly  with  his  dark,  glittering 
eyes.  "  And  is  it  then  really  true,  Mohammed  Ali — are  we  to 
be  conveyed  to  the  shore  and  set  at  liberty  ?  Are  we  not  to 
die?" 

"  It  is  true.  Lord  Hutchinson  demands  that  you  be  set  at 
liberty.  The  capitan  has  consented,  and  you  are  now  to  be 
conveyed  to  the  shore." 

<k  Is  it  not  a  new  trap  set  for  us  ?  Will  the  bottom  of  our 
boats  not  open,  and  let  us  sink  down  into  the  sea  ? " 

"  You  are  to  be  delivered  up  to  the  Englishman,"  replied 
Mohammed  Ali,  quietly. 

"  I  do  not  trust  the  word  of  the  capitan  pacha,"'  said  Bar- 
dissi, shaking  his  head.  "  Give  me  your  word,  Mohammed  Ali, 
that  we  shall  be  safely  conveyed  to  the  shore — I  will  believe 
you.  Tell  me,  truly,  shall  we  not  be  cast  into  the  sea,  or  as- 
sassinated before  we  reach  the  land  ? " 

"  No,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  no  !  You  will  land  safely,  and 
if  it  be  Allah's  will,  a  day  will  come  when  Mohammed  Ali 
will  extend  his  hand  to  you  and  call  you  his  friend.  "Who 
knows  ?  Allah's  sun  shines  everywhere.  Men  call  them- 
selves friends  to-day,  who  but  yesterday  were  enemies  ;  and 
the  friends  of  to-day  may  to-morrow  be  enemies.  Allah's 
will  alone  decides  our  destiny  ! " 

"  To-day  you  call  yourself  my  enemy,"  said  Bardissi,  *'  but 
I  already  call  you  my  friend  !  You  have  preserved  my  life, 
and,  by  Allah,  Bardissi  swears  that  you  are  henceforth  his 
friend  !  If  you  should  ever  need  a  friend,  call  Bardissi,  the 
Mameluke  bey,  and  he  will  hear  your  call  wherever  he  may 
be,  if  not  above  with  Allah.  And  now,  farewell  ! " 


RESTITUTION.  275 

"  Farewell,  and  may  Allah  restore  you  to  health  ! "  said 
Mohammed,  in  a  low  voice.  "I  am  thinking  of  the  hour 
when  we  two  foolish  boys  first  met,  and  tried  to  outdo  each 
other  in  vain  and  frivolous  words.  Men  speak  little,  but  think 
much,  and  prepare  for  the  future.  Allah's  blessing  attend 
you  ! " 

Mohammed  returned  to  the  deck  of  the  ship,  and  looked 
down  at  the  boats  that  were  now  steering  with  their  bleed- 
ing, groaning  burden  toward  the  shore.  Lord  Hutchinson, 
who  had  ordered  everything  to  be  held  in  readiness  for  im- 
mediate conflict  should  his  demand  not  be  complied  with, 
stood  on  the  shore  with  his  staff,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the 
boats.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  saw  them  approach. 
"  Forgive  me,  poor,  bleeding  victims  of  treachery,  for  having 
allowed  myself  to  be  deceived  by  flatteries  and  promises  ! " 

The  wounded  bowed  their  heads,  and  looked  at  him  almost 
compassionately. 

'•  It  is  well  that  there  are  men  who  can  still  be  deceived, 
who  still  have  faith  in  the  word  and  honor  of  men.  We  will 
trust  them  no  more,  and  will  have  vengeance  for  this  deed  of 
treachery,  bloody  vengeance  on  him  who  is  about  to  enter  our 
holy  city  as  king.  Our  curse  accompany  him  to  the  holy 
mosque,  and,  wherever  he  may  go,  may  it  rest  beside  him  on 
his  couch  in  the  citadel  !  Cairo,  the  holy,  the  beloved,  is  ours. 
We  will  fight  him  who  calls  himself  viceroy,  and  contend  with 
him  for  every  inch  of  land.  And  you,  brave  Englishmen,  will 
help  us  in  our  struggle,  will  you  not  ? " 

Lord  Hutchinson  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi !  God  be  praised,  we  are  about 
to  leave  here  !  my  king  and  my  duty  call  me  away,  and  I  am 
pleased  that  it  is  so.  Continue  your  conflict  with  the  Turks, 
and  I  confess  I  wish  you  success  in  your  struggle.  I  am  glad 
that  I  shall  no  longer  be  compelled  to  breathe  this  air,  polluted 
with  treachery  !  Your  rescue  is  my  last  act  here.  Now,  let 
us  go  and  see  whether  any  of  you  are  missing.  They  shall 
bring  you  all  here  ;  I  swear  it  by  my  king  ;  I  will  have  you 
all,  and  not  one  shall  be  withheld  I" 

Three  of  the  number  who  had  gone  out  in  the  boats  in  the 
morning  were  missing. 


276  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS   HOUSE. 

"  These  three  must  be  brought  here  !  " 

This  was  the  import  of  Lord  Hutchinson's  message  to  the 
capitan  pacha  ;  and  the  latter,  all  complacency  and  obedience, 
now  that  the  bloody  work  was  done,  sent  out  divers  to  look  for 
the  dead  in  the  sea.  They  were  recovered,  and  humbly  de- 
posited at  the  feet  of  the  Englishman. 

While  Lord  Hutchinson  and  Sitta  Nefysseh  returned  with 
the  wounded  to  Alexandria,  where  the  wives  of  the  disabled 
and  dead  Mamelukes  were  weeping  and  lamenting,  Moham- 
med Ali  returned  to  the  ship.  The  soldiers  were  nearly  all 
disembarked  ;  silence  reigned  in  the  ship,  and  its  blood-stained 
deck  alone  bore  evidence  of  the  murderous  deed  that  had  been 
done. 

Mohammed  caused  these  stains  to  be  hastily  removed  ;  he 
well  knew  that  these  traces  of  bloody  treachery  would  be 
viewed  by  the  delicate  and  sensitive  Osman  with  horror. 

He  then  went  down  into  the  cabin  to  his  friend.  Osman 
received  him  with  outstretched  arms,  gazing  at  him  sadly  but 
tenderly. 

"  I  have  done  as  you  requested,  Mohammed,  and  have  not 
left  my  cabin,  though  alarmed  by  the  cries  and  tumult  above 
me.  I  knew  my  Mohammed  had  bloody  work  to  do.  I  was 
sorry  for  you,  and  yet  I  knew  that  you  could  not  prevent 
it." 

"  No,  I  could  not  prevent  it,"  said  Mohammed,  gloomily  ; 
"and  yet,  Osman,  my  soul  shudders  when  I  think  of  it.  I 
have  received  to-day  the  baptism  of  my  new  existence,  and  it 
is  no  longer  the  Mohammed  you  loved  who  stands  before  you. 
I  have  to-day  been  compelled  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  treach- 
ery, but  it  was  Allah's  will,  and  the  soldier  must  obey  his 
superior's  commands.  I  obeyed,  Osman.  nothing  more.  The 
curse  of  this  evil  deed  does  not  fall  on  me.  Though  my  hand 
is  blood-stained,  it  is  yet  innocent." 

"You  have  undergone  a  fearful 'baptism,"  murmured  Os- 
man, shuddering.  "  I  read  it  in  your  pale  countenance,  my 
Mohammed — a  fearful  baptism.  You  must,  however,  march 
on  boldly  in  your  career.  Do  you  now  understand  why 
Osman  was  so  anxious  to  accept  the  position  of  captain  of 
the  troops  ?  Do  you  now  understand  why  I  took  this  step,  and 


RESTITUTION".  277 

do  you  now  comprehend  my  love  and  friendship,  Moham- 
med ? " 

''  I  understand  it  all,  and  I  bless  you,  my  Osman,  creator 
of  my  new  existence  !  I  thank  you,  Osman  ;  and  when  after 
long  years  the  fame  of  your  Mohammed's  deeds  shall  reach 
your  ear,  when  my  mother's  dream  is  fulfilled,  and  I  am 
crowned  and  seated  on  a  throne  that  stands  on  the  summit  of 
a  palace,  then  remember,  my  Osman,  that  you  are  the  creator 
of  my  fortune,  and  that  Mohammed  Ali  blesses  his  friend  with 
every  breath.  I  swear  eternal  love  and  friendship  for  you, 
my  Osman,  and  I  swear,  too,  that  the  thought  of  you  shall 
make  me  mild  and  humane  toward  my  enemies." 

''  Even  when  you  stand  before  your  enemy,  Cousrouf  Pacha, 
Mohammed  ?  "  asked  Osman. 

"  Why  do  you  name  him  at  such  a  time  ?  "  murmured  Mo- 
hammed, with  a  slight  shudder.  "  Do  you  know  that  I  am  to 
be  sent  to  him  ?  The  capitan  pacha  perhaps  observed,  by  my 
manner  and  voice,  that  I  also  do  not  love  Cousrouf  Pacha, 
whom  he  hates  ;  he  warmly  recommends  me  to  him,  and  I  am 
to  go  to  him  to  serve  him." 

u  And  will  you  enter  his  service  ?  "  asked  Osman. 

"  I  will  do  so,"  replied  Mohammed  ;  "  and  I  have  sworn 
that  I  will  serve  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt  as  my  heart  prompts." 

Both  were  still  for  a  while,  and  seemed  disinclined  to  break 
the  silence. 

"  You  will  serve  him  as  your  heart  prompts,"  said  Osman, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  In  this  case,  do  you  think  Cousrouf  Pacha 
will  long  remain  great  and  mighty  in  Cairo  ? " 

Mohammed  smiled  faintly. 

"  Osman,  I  am  almost  disposed  to  be  afraid  of  you.  Your 
question  tells  me  that  you  read  my  most  secret  thoughts.  Let 
your  question  remain  unanswered  for  the  present.  I  will 
communicate  with  you  from  time  to  time,  Osman,  and  send 
you  loving  messages,  you  may  rest  assured.  I  have  one  re- 
quest to  make  still :  when  you  return  home  to  Cavalla.  greet 
the  wife  that  you  gave  me,  and  also  greet  and  kiss  my  chil- 
dren. And  then,  Osman,  if  you  are  able,  go  down  to  the  cliffs, 
take  up  a  stone  from  the  shore  and  throw  it  into  the  sea,  and 
when  the  circles  form  around  the  place  where  it  went  down, 


278  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

and  the  waves  curl  upon  the  shore,  say  this  :  '  Mohammed 
greets  you,  Masa,  and  he  begins  the  work  of  holy  vengeance  ! 
Eest  quietly  in  your  grave,  Masa  ;  Mohammed  Ali  is  keeping 
watch  for  you  and  for  himself  ;  the  work  of  vengeance  is 
begun  ! ' " 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  VICEROY  OF  EGYPT. 

TO-DAY  all  Cairo  is  in  a  state  of  joyous  excitement.  The 
days  of  want  and  care  have  passed — who  now  remembers  the 
terrors  of  yesterday  ?  Who  still  remembers  the  days  when 
the  Frank  ruled  here,  when  the  terrible  general  made  the  peo- 
ple bow  their  heads  beneath  the  yoke  ?  Yes,  on  this  same 
square  of  the  Esbekieh,  have  they  lain  in  the  dust  before  the 
mighty  general  who  stood  before  them  a  giant,  though  small 
in  stature.  Who  still  thinks  of  the  misery  and  disgrace  of 
those  days  ?  Forgotten  !  all  forgotten  !  Two  years  are  a  long 
period  for  the  remembrance  of  a  people  ;  and  two  years  have 
passed  since  Bonaparte  departed,  and  more  than  a  year  has 
elapsed  since  the  last  of  the  Franks  withdrew  from  Egypt. 

"  All  hail  the  new  viceroy  sent  us  by  our  master  in  Stam- 
boul !  he  will  make  us  happy,  and  relieve  us  of  the  unending 
struggles  of  the  Mameluke  beys  I  Long  live  Cousrouf  Pacha, 
our  new  viceroy  !  " 

These  cries  rend  the  air  as  the  sm'ging  crowds  make  their 
way  toward  Boulak,  from  which  place  Cousrouf  Pacha  is  to 
make  his  grand  entrance  into  the  holy  city.  All  the  authori- 
ties have  assembled  there  to  participate  in  the  celebration  ; 
there  are  the  ulemas  in  their  long  caftans,  and  the  sheiks  in 
their  green  robes,  the  crescent  embroidered  on  their  turbans  in 
token  of  their  dignity  ;  there  are  also  the  generals  of  the  Turk- 
ish and  English  regiments,  the  latter  only  remaining  in  Cairo 
to  take  part  in  the  festivities  of  the  viceroy's  entrance.  And 
now  the  new  ruler  approaches  in  his  splendor.  The  Nile, 
broad  as  it  is  at  Boulak,  is  nevertheless  covered  with  boats,  in 
which  the  viceroy  is  approaching  with  his  numerous  and  glit- 


THE  VICEROY  OF  EGYPT.  279 

tering  suite.  He  stands  on  the  deck  of  a  large  boat,  surround- 
ed by  a  group  of  distinguished  Turks  and  Englishmen  ;  all 
the  consuls  of  the  friendly  powers  are  with  him,  and  this 
seems  to  the  shouting  populace  a  guarantee  of  returning 
peace. 

The  boat  is  brought  alongside  the  bridge  of  boats  that  con- 
nects Boulak  with  the  opposite  shore.  As  Cousrouf  Pacha 
now  steps  out  upon  the  bridge  covered  with  costly  carpets  and 
strewed  with  flowers,  thousands  of  voices  from  both  shores 
hail  the  viceroy  as  their  deliverer  with  shouts  of  joy.  The 
pacha  bows  a  kindly  greeting  in  every  direction,  and  then 
casts  a  glance  toward  the  horizon,  where,  in  the  purple  dis- 
tance, the  pyramids  stand  out,  sharply  defined  against  the  sky. 
He  bows  his  head  still  more  profoundly,  and  remembers  that 
he  is  now  the  successor  of  the  great  Pharaohs  who  erected 
these  monuments  to  themselves. 

"  I,  too,  will  erect  such  a  monument.  After  thousands  of 
years  the  world  shall  still  speak  of  me— of  the  Viceroy,  per- 
haps of  the  King,  of  Egypt." 

Such  are  his  thoughts  as  he  walks  across  the  bridge  to  the 
carriage  of  state  in  which  he  is  to  make  his  entrance.  The  ule- 
mas  receive  him.  "  Long  live  the  ambassador  of  the  prophet ! 
Long  live  the  blessed  of  Allah  !  "  resound  from  the  lips  of  the 
thousands  assembled  upon  the  shore  and  in  the  streets  of  the 
city. 

How  radiant  is  Cousrouf  Pacha's  countenance  !  How  little 
the  viceroy  of  to-day  resembles  the  exiled  pacha  of  the  past, 
during  his  weary  sojourn  in  Cavalla,  with  nothing  to  enliven 
him  but  his  little  struggle  with  the  boy  Mohammed  and  his 
harem  !  A  land  is  now  at  his  feet.  Onward  the  procession 
moves  through  the  crowds  that  throng  the  streets  ;  they  have 
now  turned  into  the  Muskj  Street — the  beautiful  street,  the 
pride  of  the  inhabitants,  with  its  old-fashioned,  lofty  houses. 
Onward  the  procession  moves  toward  the  citadel.  There,  in 
the  beautiful  palace,  will  the  viceroy  be  enthroned.  "  Long 
live  our  new  ruler  !  Long  live  our  viceroy  !  "  These  are  the 
cries  that  greet  him  throughout  his  entire  march  to  the  cita- 
del ;  and  these  cries  still  rend  the  air  long  after  Cousrouf 
Pacha  has  entered  the  palace,  at  whose  gates  he  had  been  re- 


280  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

ceived  by  the  grand  dignitaries  of  the  land.  He  greeted  them 
all  in  brief  but  kindly  terms,  and  then  retired  to  the  private 
apartments  of  his  palace. 

He  now  reclines  on  his  cushions,  thinking  of  his  past  and 
of  his  future.  A  glad  smile  lights  up  his  countenance.  The 
way  was  long  and  weary,  but  its  obstacles  have  now  been  over- 
come. Once  he  was  a  slave,  but  he  had  sworn  to  struggle  for 
a  great  aim.  He  has  kept  his  oath.  Here  he  is  the  first,  the 
ruler.  Who  knows  but  he  may  yet  completely  cast  off  the 
burden  of  dependence,  and  become  absolutely  free  ?  Every 
thing  rests  on  the  acquisition  of  good  and  faithful  friends  and 
servants,  and  he  will  acquire  such.  It  is  so  easy  for  the  great 
to  acquire  friends  !  Is  not  the  capitan  pacha  his  friend  ?  Does 
he  not  owe  all  that  he  is  to  him  ?  He  has  elevated  him  from 
the  dust,  and  made  him  commander  of  the  army  with  which 
he  has  come  over  from  Turkey.  Yes,  he  is  a  true  and  devoted 
friend,  and  he  will  easily  find  others.  His  power  will  become 
great— great  as  all  Egypt.  He  rises,  calls  one  of  the  Nubian 
slaves,  and  bids  him  show  him  the  way  to  the  walls  of  the 
citadel. 

The  slave  opens  a  secret  door  that  leads  into  a  narrow  pas- 
sage and  upon  the  outer  wall  of  the  citadel.  Motioning  to  the 
slave  to  remain  in  the  passage,  Cousrouf  steps  out,  and  then 
stands  still,  astonished  at  the  splendid  spectacle  that  lies  before 
him.  Spread  out  at  his  feet  lies  the  holy  Mazr,  with  all  its 
minarets  and  towers.  Farther  on  lies  a  whole  city  of  cupolas 
—these  are  the  graves  of  the  caliphs  ;  they  rear  their  heads 
proudly  aloft  in  the  sunlight,  congratulating  the  new  ruler  on 
his  magnificence  ;  but  also  reminding  him  of  the  perishable 
nature  of  all  earthly  glory — the  saying  of  a  certain  wise  man  : 
"  Thou  first  and  mightiest  of  mortals,  be  thankful  that  thou  art 
alive  ! " 

"  I  thank  thee,  Allah,  that  I  am  alive,  and  I  bow  down  in 
humility  before  thee  ! "  murmurs  Cousrouf,  reverently. 
He  then  again  looks  out  with  delight  upon  the  landscape  that 
lies  before  him.  There,  in  a  wide  curve,  winds  the  river  Nile 
like  a  silver  ribbon,  innumerable  decorated  boats  and  barks 
dancing  upon  its  surface.  Here  all  is  life  and  animation, 
beyond  the  Nile  reigns  a  solemn  stillness  ;  for  a  certain  dis- 


THE   VICEROY   OF  EGYPT.  281 

tance  from  the  river  bank  stand  stately  palm-trees,  and  then 
suddenly,  sharply  denned  beside  the  green  fields,  begins  the 
yellow  sand.  That  is  the  desert — that  is  the  mysterious 
theatre  of  so  many  adventures  throughout  the  ages,  the 
receptacle  of  so  much  hidden  wealth,  the  great  burying-ground 
of  the  unknown  dead.  There,  on  the  horizon,  where  the  yel- 
low sand  and  the  blue  sky  meet,  stand  the  pyramids  of 
Gheezeh,  and  farther  on,  in  the  purple  distance,  the  pyramids 
of  Sakkara. 

"  A  world  lies  at  my  feet,  and  I  am  the  ruler  of  this  world. 
I  have  attained  my  aim,"  says  he  to  himself.  ''  All  is  ful- 
filled ;  but  one  thing  is  left  to  wish  for.  O  Allah,  grant  me 
still  many  years  in  which  to  enjoy  this  magnificence ! " 

Once  moi'e  he  glances  around  at  the  beautiful  landscape 
before  him,  and  then,  conducted  by  the  slave,  returns  to  his 
private  apartments.  He  lies  on  his  cushions,  listening  to  the 
shouts  of  the  delighted  multitude  without. 

Suddenly  the  curtain  that  covers  the  doorway  is  noiselessly 
withdrawn,  and  a  slave  announces  that  a  messenger  from  the 
capitan  pacha,  accompanied  by  a  bim  bashi,  stands  in  the 
antechamber,  awaiting  his  pleasure. 

"  What  is  the  messenger's  name  ?  "  asks  Cousrouf,  wearily. 

"  Hassan  Aga,  master,  bim  bashi  of  the  capitan  pacha." 

"  And  his  favorite,"  murmurs  Cousrouf  to  himself.  "  Let 
Hassan  Aga  enter." 

At  the  slave's  call  the  messenger  enters,  bows  his  head  to 
the  ground,  and  hands  his  master's  letter  to  the  viceroy. 

"  Do  you  know  its  contents  ?"  asks  Cousrouf,  slowly  open- 
ing the  letter. 

"  Yes,  highness.  It  is  a  farewell  letter  from  my  master, 
who  leaves  to-morrow  for  Stamboul." 

For  an  instant  a  smile  glides  over  Cousrouf's  countenance  ; 
but  then  it  assumes  a  sad  expression.  "  The  capitan  pacha  is 
about  to  depart — to  leave  me." 

"  He  wishes  to  leave  to  you  alone  the  honor  of  having  laid 
subjugated  Egypt  at  the  feet  of  his  master  the  grand-sultan, 
in  Stamboul.  He  has  done  what  lay  in  his  power.  The  most 
dangerous  Mamelukes  have  fallen  beneath  his  blows.  Shall  I 
narrate  to  your  highness  how  it  was  done  ? " 
19 


282  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

Cousrouf  signifies  his  assent.  Hassan  hastily  relates  the 
bloody  story  of  the  assassination  of  the  Mamelukes  in  the  road- 
stead of  Aboukir,  Cousrouf  listening1  with  the  greatest  atten- 
tion. "  The  capitan  pacha  has  erected  a  bloody  but  a  great 
monument  to  himself,''  says  he,  when  Hassan  has  finished  his 
narrative.  "  Yet  it  is  questionable  whether  I  shall  be  benefited 
by  it.  It  would,  perhaps,  have  been  wiser  to  reconcile  our- 
selves with  the  Mamelukes,  than  to  excite  them  to  new  anger." 

"Highness,  reconciliation  with  the  Mamelukes  is  impos- 
sible," replies  Hassan.  "  The  capitan  pacha,  who  has  ever 
been  faithful  in  your  service,  wishes  to  give  you  a  final  proof 
of  his  friendship." 

''  And  in  what  does  this  proof  consist  ? "  asks  Cousrouf. 

"  He  sends  your  highness  a  hero  who  has  the  determina- 
tion to  do  all  things,  and  the  capacity  to  do  all  he  determines. 
He  gave  evidence  of  his  courage  and  address  at  Aboukir.  The 
capitan  pacha  can  leave  you  no  better  token  of  his  friendship 
than  this  young  hero,  who  is  entirely  devoted  to  you.  May  I 
present  this  last  best  gift  of  the  capitan  pacha  ;  may  I  present 
to  your  highness  the  young  him  bashi  ? " 

The  pacha  nods  his  assent,  and  Hassan  noiselessly  with- 
draws, returning  in  a  few  moments,  accompanied  by  the 
young  him  bashi,  so  warmly  recommended  to  the  viceroy. 
Cousrouf  Pacha  wearily  raises  his  head  and  casts  a  glance  of 
indifference  at  the  tall  figure  of  the  him  bashi ;  but  as  his  glance 
falls  on  the  young  man's  countenance,  he  starts.  It  seems  to 
him  that  he  has  seen  those  eagle  eyes  before.  He  hastily 
casts  his  eyes  down,  and  then  looks  up  again  at  the  him  bashi, 
who  holds  his  head  proudly  erect,  awaiting  the  viceroy's 
address. 

"  What  is  your  name,  birn  bashi  ?  Where  do  you  come 
from  ?"  asks  Cousrouf,  after  a  long  pause. 

The  him  bashi  advances  a  step,  and,  looking  steadily  in  the 
viceroy's  countenance,  bows  profoundly.  "My  name  is 
Mohammed  Ali,  and  I  come  from  Ca valla." 

"Ca valla!"  repeats  Cousrouf,  with  a  start.  Now  he 
remembers  that  he  has  sometimes  seen  these  eyes  before  him 
in  sleepless  nights.  They  have  impressed  themselves  deeply 
into  his  heart  with  their  fearful  glances.  The  haughty  pacha 


THE   VICEROY   OF  EGYPT.  283 

had  never  reproached  himself  for  killing  the  slave  Masa — that 
was  his  right ;  he  acted  according  to  law  when  he  punished 
the  runaway  slave  by  death — but  it  was  cruel  to  compel  the 
man  who  loved  her  to  witness  her  death.  Cousrouf  had 
felt  this  at  the  time,  and  that  was  why  these  eyes  had  pene- 
trated his  heart  like  daggers'-points.  But  that  was  long  ago, 
and  these  eyes  are  now  very  different.  They  no  longer  glit- 
ter with  curses:  they  now  sparkle  with  animation,  energy, 
and  courage,  only. 

"  You  come  from  Cavalla,"  says  he,  after  a  pause,  "  and 
your  name  is  Mohammed  All  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  once, 
when  I  sojourned  for  a  time  at  Cavalla,  I  also  knew  a  Moham- 
med Ali,  a  daring  young  lad,  the  friend  of  Csman,  with  whose 
father  I  resided  ;  I  had  appointed  Osman  him  bashi  of  the 
soldiers  he  was  to  bring  over  to  me,  and  I  also  permitted  him 
to  select  young  Mohammed  Ali  as  his  boulouk  bashi.  Yet 
Osman  has  not  come,  nor  do  you  appear  to  be  the  Mohammed 
Ali  I  then  knew." 

''Pardon  me,  highness,"  said  Mohammed  Ali,  with  a  slight 
smile,  for  he  well  understood  the  secret  meaning  of  this  ques- 
tion— "  pardon  me,  highness,  I  am  this  Mohammed,  and  yet 
another.  The  first  was  a  bold,  insolent  lad,  who  dared  to  defy 
your  authority  and  refused  to  bow  his  head  in  humility  before 
your  highness.  He  who  now  stands  before  you,  however,  is 
your  devoted  servant,  who  brings  you  greetings  from,  his 
friend  Osman.  He  is  deeply  touched  by  your  graciousness, 
and,  hoping  for  a  continuance  of  your  favor,  he  undertook 
to  do  your  bidding.  But  alas  !  the  will  of  man  is  often  frus- 
trated by  bodily  weakness.  It  was  thus  with  my  friend  Os- 
man. The  first  day  of  the  conflict  at  Aboukir  prostrated  him 
so  completely  that  he  was  compelled  to  return  home  to  Caval- 
la, and  the  capitan  graciously  granted  his  request  and  placed 
me  in  his  position.  Yet  I  lay  my  new  dignity  at  your  feet ; 
all  that  I  am  I  wish  to  receive  at  your  hands." 

Cousrouf  had  regarded  him  fixedly  while  he  spoke,  and  had 
listened  attentively  to  his  words  and  voice.  He  was  satisfied 
with  him.  "Yes,  Mohammed,  you  are  right,1'  said  Cousrouf  ; 
"  there  is  nothing  of  the  fierce  boy  of  those  days  in  you  now. 
You  voice  is  flattering,  and  your  words  well  chosen  and  de- 


284  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

voted,  and  Cousrouf  will  attach  you  to  himself  through  grati- 
tude. He  will  cherish  you,  and  make  of  you  a  devoted  serv- 
ant. You  say,  you  lay  your  dignity  of  bim  bashi  at  my 
feet?" 

"  Yes,  highness,  I  lay  all  at  your  feet ;  and  all  that  I  am  I 
wish  to  receive  at  your  hands." 

"  Well,  then,  if  your  destiny  rests  with  me,  I  must  promote 
the  bim  bashi  to  a  higher  dignity.  From  this  moment  the 
bim  bashi  is  the  sarechsme,  the  general  of  the  Albanian  troops. 
You  are  their  countryman,  and  you  shall  be  their  leader." 

"  O  highness,  how  great  is  your  generosity  ! "  exclaims 
Mohammed,  his  countenance  beaming  with  joy. 

Cousrouf  had  observed  him  closely,  and  the  young  man's 
delight  showed  him  that  he  had  acquired  in  Mohammed  a 
true  and  devoted  friend,  and  he  will  have  great  need  of  such 
friends  in  the  impending  struggles  to  uphold  his  power,  which 
the  course  pursued  by  his  friend  the  capitan  pacha  will  have 
made  inevitable.  The  bloody  massacre  at  Aboukir,  which  the 
capitan  claims  as  a  friendly  service  rendered  him,  has,  he  well 
knows,  made  him  many  passionate  and  irreconcilable  enemies. 
Yes,  he  needs  true  friends,  and  Mohammed  shall  be  chained 
to  his  service  through  gratitude. 

Mohammed  expresses  his  gratitude  and  devotion  in  such 
eloquent  terms  that  Cousrouf 's  heart  is  touched,  and  he  feels 
impelled  to  address  some  kindly  words  to  the  new  sarechsme. 
He  dismisses  Hassan  Aga  with  friendly  greetings  to  the  capi- 
tan pacha,  and  motioned  to  the  sarechsme  to  remain.  Cous- 
rouf walks  thoughtfully  to  and  fro  in  the  room  for  a  time,  his 
gold-embroidered  caftan  trailing  on  the  carpet  behind  him, 
and  the  crescent  on  his  turban  glittering  in  the  sunlight.  Mo- 
hammed raises  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  sees  the  figure 
sweep  past  him  like  a  brilliant  meteor.  Quickly  he  casts  down 
his  eyes  again,  that  his  soul's  inmost  thoughts  may  not  be  be- 
trayed, and  least  of  all  to  the  viceroy.  No  one  but  Allah 
hears  the  oath  that  now  resounds  in  his  soul,  as  he  stands  in 
an  humble  attitude  at  the  door,  waiting  to  be  addressed.  "  1 
have  sworn  vengeance,  and  I  will  keep  my  oath.  Vengeance 
for  Masa  ;  vengeance  for  the  torments  I  have  endured.  My 
head  is  now  bowed  in  humility  before  you,  yet  I  swear  to  re- 


THE  VICEROY   OF  EGYPT.  285 

pay  you  for  the  evil  you  have  done  me  ;  not  by  killing  you, 
but  by  torturing  your  soul.  We  are  alone,  without  witnesses; 
it  were  an  easy  thing  to  slay  you.  The  door  stands  open,  and 
I  could  flee  before  the  deed  could  be  known.  But  death  is  no 
revenge  for  years  of  torture.  You  shall  live,  and  live  in  agony 
and  pain.  Thus  will  Mohammed  Ali  be  avenged  ! " 

In  his  heart  he  swears  this  oath.  His  lips  do  not  quiver  ; 
no  feature  of  his  countenance  betrays  what  is  passing  within. 
Cousrouf  stands  still  before  him,  and  lays  his  hand  on  Mo- 
hammed's shoulder.  "  Look  at  me,  Mohammed  !  " 

The  latter  looks  up,  and  the  eyes  of  both  are  firmly  fixed 
on  each  other.  The  young  general  divines  Cousi^ouf's 
thoughts,  but  the  pacha  does  not  divine  Mohammed's. 

"  You  said  that  the  Mohammed  of  the  days  when  I  resided 
in  Cavalla  is  dead.  Is  it  true  ? " 

"  Yes,  highness,  it  is  true.  He  is  dead,  or  he  has  at  least 
transformed  himself  into  a  better  man.  Yet,  highness,  he 
suffered  much  before  he  could  accomplish  this  transforma- 
tion." 

"  That  I  can  readily  believe."  says  Cousrouf,  in  low  tones. 
"  I  have  often  regretted  having  caused  you  this  misery.  Yet 
you  must  have  become  satisfied  yourself,  young  man,  that  I 
could  not  do  otherwise.  I  acted  in  accordance  with  the  law." 

"  You  only  acted  in  accordance  with  the  law,1'  replies  Mo- 
hammed, in  a  low  voice.  "  The  law  ordains  that  the  faithless 
runaway  be  punished,  and  also  he  with  whom  she  has  fled. 
The  captured  slave  was  killed,  and  it  seems  to  me  it  was  an 
act  of  clemency  to  permit  him  who  loved  her  to  witness  her 
execution  without  being  able  to  help  her.  Yes,  an  act  of  great 
clemency.  You  might  have  punished  me  more  severely." 

Again  Cousrouf  gazes  into  his  countenance  searchingly. 
The  tone  of  his  voice  is  mild  and  submissive,  yet  his  words 
bear  stings. 

"  I  should  think,  Mohammed,  that  death  itself  were  prefer- 
able to  the  punishment  of  being  compelled  to  witness  the  ex- 
ecution of  the  beloved  without  being  able  to  help  her.  In  the 
years  that  have  since  passed,  I  have  often  thought  that  it  was 
cruel,  and  wished  I  had  not  dealt  so  harshly  with  you.  Does 
it  suffice  that  I  confess  this  to  you?  Will  you  say  this  to 


286  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

the  other — the  dead  and  transformed — and  will  it  console 
him  ? " 

"O  master,  what  magnanimity!"  exclaims  Mohammed. 
"  You  are  generous  enough  to  confess  that  you  feel  regret  at 
having  done  justice  to  that  slave  ? " 

"I  was  passionate,  and  you  had  excited  my  wrath,"  replies 
the  pacha,  gently  inclining  his  head. 

"Not  I,  highness,"  says  Mohammed,  smiling.  "Not  I,  the 
'  sarechsme,  but  that  wild,  insolent  boy,  Mohammed,  of  whom 
no  trace  now  remains.  He  is  buried  in  the  sea,  at  the  place 
where  the  waves  closed  over  Masa.  Yet,  if  that  Mohammed 
still  lived  and  heard  what  you  say,  he  would  bow  down  in  the 
dust  before  the  great  man  who  condescends  to  confess  that  he 
regrets  what  he  has  done.  However,  should  I  see  that  Mo- 
hammed, I  will  tell  him  of  this  never-to-be-forgotten  magna- 
nimity." 

"  I  will  give  you  a  souvenir  of  this  hour,"  says  Cousrouf, 
gently.  "  I  am  so  happy  myself  to-day  that  I  desire  to  see  the 
happy  only  about  me.  You  are  now  a  general.  I  should  like 
to  see  you  worthily  fitted  out  for  your  new  dignity.  Have  you 
a  steed  suitable  to  your  rank  ? " 

"  I  am  poor,  highness,  and  have  nothing  but  the  salary 
which  your  highness  will  bestow  on  me." 

'"  Above  all,  you  must  have  a  good  horse.  I  have  received 
from  the  grand-sultan,  in  Stamboul,  in  honor  of  my  entrance 
into  Cairo,  four  beautiful  horses.  I  make  you  a  present  of  one 
of  them.  Go  down  to  the  stables  ;  they  shall  be  shown  you. 
and  you  shall  select  the  one  that  pleases  you  best.  Be  still  !  no 
word  of  thanks  !  Show  your  gratitude  by  serving  me  faith- 
fully. Are  you  already  provided  with  a  dwelling  ? " 

"  No,  highness.  The  him  bashi  had  but  just  arrived  with 
Hassan  Aga  from  Alexandria,  and  has  as  yet  had  no  time  to 
look  after  a  dwelling." 

"  A  house  shall  be  prepared  for  you,"  said  the  pacha  ;  "  I 
will  see  to  this  myself.  Eemain  in  my  palace  to-day  ;  to-mor- 
row you  shall  have  a  house  of  your  own.  Now  go  and  select 
the  best  of  the  horses.  I  hope  you  are  a  connoisseur,  and  will 
easily  pick  out  the  best  one  ;  it  shall  be  delivered  to  you  com- 
pletely equipped."  He  calls  a  slave  who  stood  waiting  with- 


SITTA  NEFYSSEH.  287 

out,  and  commands  him  to  conduct  the  sarechsme  to  the  court- 
yard, and  order  the  horses  to  be  led  before  him. 

Mohammed,  his  head  bowed  down  in  profound  reverence, 
withdraws  to  the  door,  walking  backward.  Cousrouf  follows 
him  with  his  eyes  until  the  door  has  closed  behind  him,  and 
then  a  smile  glides  over  his  countenance. 

"  This  man  is  won  over  to  my  interests.  He  is  right ;  he 
is  transformed,  body  and  soul,  and  he  is  mine.  And  truly 
such  a  friend  is  a  valuable  possession.'' 

Mohammed  descends  with  the  slave  to  the  court-yard. 
The  latter  hastily  summons  the  equerry,  and  delivers  his  mas- 
ter's message.  The  beautiful  horses,  with  their  splendid  trap- 
pings, are  now  led  before  Mohammed.  The  new  sarechsme  se- 
lects the  handsomest  and  best ;  he  wishes  to  show  the  viceroy 
that  he  can  judge  of  the  beauty  and  fire  of  a  horse.  Moham- 
med then  retires  to  the  rooms  set  apart  for  him  in  a  wing  of 
the  palace.  When  left  alone,  his  grave  countenance  relaxes, 
and  a  triumphant  smile  plays  about  his  lips. 

''  The  work  is  begun,"  murmurs  he  to  himself.  "  The  vice- 
roy has  himself  called  his  enemy  to  his  side.  He  thinks,  with 
his  favor  and  flattery,  to  make  me  forget  what  I  have  endured. 
He  shall  learn  that  Mohammed  Ali  never  forgives.  You  are 
lost,  Cousrouf,  for  you  slumber,  while  I  watch  and  will  take 
advantage  of  your  slumber.  Beware,  Cousrouf,  beware  !  I 
will  not  be  your  murderer,  you  shall  live,  but  I  will  humble 
you  ;  you  shall  sink  down  in  the  dust  before  me  !  Let  that 
be  the  revenge  for  Masa,  my  white  dove,  and  for  myself  ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SITTA  NEFYSSEH. 

SHE  was  reposing  in  her  garden-kiosk.  She  had  ordered 
her  female  slaves  to  place  themselves  in  the  rear  of  some  rose- 
bushes in  the  background,  and  make  sweet  harmony  with 
their  cymbals  and  clarinets.  She  wished  to  be  left  alone  with 
her  thoughts.  She  lay  reclining  at  full  length  on  her  silver- 


288  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

embroidered  silken  cushions.  The  white  silk  dress,  in  worked 
with,  crimson  roses,  enfolded  her  closely,  displaying  the  con- 
tour of  her  graceful  form.  The  sunlight  pierced  the  airy  lat- 
tice-work of  the  kiosk,  around  which  clustered  roses  and 
orange-blossoms,  and  shed  a  soft  light  over  her  charming 
countenance.  The  veil,  which  Sitta  Nefysseh  only  wears 
when  she  goes  into  the  streets  or  meets  strangers  in  her  house, 
is  laid  aside. 

Beautiful  is  Sitta  Nefysseh,  more  beautiful  than  a  young 
girl,  than  the  unblown  rose,  radiant  with  loveliness  and  dig- 
nity. "  Queen  of  the  Roses,"  thus  is  she  called  by  all  Cairo. 

Who  does  not  know  her — who  has  not  heard  of  her,  of  the 
Rose  of  Cairo,  of  the  wife  of  the  great  Mourad  Bey,  the  Mame- 
luke chieftain  ?  Even  the  Franks  bowed  humbly  before  her 
grace  and  dignity,  and  the  scha-er  sings  and  relates,  on  the 
street-corners,  of  the  French  general,  Kleber,  who  loved 
Mourad's  beautiful  wife,  and  who  often,  in  the  stillness  of  the 
evening,  haunted  the  vicinity  of  his  palace,  awaiting,  perhaps, 
an  opportunity  to  invade  the  harem  in  which  the  Rose  of 
Cairo  dwelt.  And  in  his  songs  he  also  intimates  that  the  dag- 
ger-stroke which  lay  the  general  low  near  the  palace,  was 
dealt  at  the  instigation  of  the  jealous  bey. 

Who  does  not  know  Sitta  Nefysseh,  the  benefactress  of 
the  poor,  the  proud  heroine  who  fought  at  her  husband's  side, 
who  shared  with  Mourad  the  dangers  of  war,  a  heroine  in  bat- 
tle, a  gentle,  modest  woman  in  the  harem  ? 

All  is  still  about  her.  The  waters  of  the  fountains  near  the 
kiosk  murmur  gently  as  they  fall  in  the  basins  beneath,  as  if 
to  lull  the  beautiful  woman  to  rest  with  their  music,  and  now 
the  soft  music  from  behind  the  rose-bushes  is  also  wafted  over 
to  the  kiosk. 

The  slaves  accompany  the  instruments  with  their  voices. 

What  are  they  singing  ?  What  song  is  this  that  exults  and 
is  yet  filled  with  sadness  ?  whose  strains  are  so  passionate,  so 
lamenting,  so  longing  ? 

Sitta  Nefysseh  well  knows  what  they  are  ;  although  the 
words  are  inaudible,  yet  she  knows  them,  knows  the  sad  love- 
song  "of  her  whom  he  loved,  of  him  who  slew  her."  The 
song  is  a  familiar  one.  But  why  does  it  excite  such  emotion 


SITTA  NEFYSSEH. 

in  her  heart,  why  do  her  large  black  eyes  fill  with  tears  ?  She 
would  permit  no  one  to  see  these  tears,  she  would  quickly 
brush  them  from  her  sparkling  eyes  with  her  hand,  white  as 
the  lily,  if  the  eye  of  any  human  being  could  now  behold  her. 

But  no  one  sees  her — Sitta  Nefysseh  is  alone. 

At  least  she  thinks  so.  The  pair  of  black  eyes  that  peer 
out  from  behind  the  shrubbery  and  flowers  near  the  garden- 
wall,  she  does  not  see,  and  yet  these  eyes  are  fixed  with  such 
anguish  and  longing,  with  such  passionate  ardor,  on  the  lovely 
woman  who  lies  there  dreamily  on  her  cushions. 

Of  what  is  she  dreaming  ?  The  slaves  are  singing  of  love 
and  bliss  ;  the  waters  murmuring  of  love  and  bliss,  and,  in  the 
heart  of  the  beautiful  Sitta  Nefysseh,  there  are  also  singing, 
sighing,  and  murmuring  of  love  and  bliss  ! 

People  say  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  proud  and  has  a  cold 
heart.  Love  has  never  dared  to  approach  her  since  the  death 
of  her  husband,  Mourad  Bey.  She  is  kindly  in  her  manner 
toward  all,  yet  no  one  dares  suppose  she  views  him  with  more 
favor  than  others.  She  keeps  all  men  at  a  distance  ;  they  all 
love  her  and  bow  down  in  reverence  and  adoration  hefore  her, 
but  Sitta  Nefysseh  remains  proud  and  cold  ;  she  loves  no 
one  ! 

This  the  people  say,  and,  if  she  heard  it,  she  would  nod  her 
beautiful  head,  would  smile  and  say  :  "  They  are  right,  I  love 
no  one.  Mourad  Bey,  my  husband  and  my  hero,  him  I  loved  ! 
Since  he  is  dead,  I  am  alone  and  love  no  one  ! " 

The  black  eyes  are  still  peering  out  through  the  shrubbery 
and  flowers,  fixed  on  her  with  passionate  ardor.  She  does  not 
see  them  ;  but  now,  as  she  raises  her  head  as  if  to  rise  from 
her  cushions,  these  eyes  quickly  disappear,  and  a  tall,  manly 
figure,  stooping  forward  behind  the  trees  and  shrubbery,  glides 
noiselessly  along  to  the  gate  that  leads  into  the  inner  court- 
yard. But,  before  he  steps  out,  young  Youssouf  stands  still, 
draws  a  long  breath,  and  seems  to  summon  all  his  resolution 
to  his  aid  to  resist  the  charm  that  carries  him  away. 

"If  she  knew  that  I  watched  her,  she  would  drive  me  from 
her,  and  then  Youssouf  would  die.  Alas  !  she  may  not  dream 
that  I  love  her  ;  she  is  proud  and  unapproachable,  and  what 
am  I  to  her  ?  The  poor  kachef  of  her  deceased  husband !  She 


290  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

tolerates  me  as  she  tolerates  the  dog  that  is  accustomed  to  lie 
on  the  threshold  of  her  door.  Alas,  I  should  die  if  she  knew 
of  Youssouf's  love  for  her  1 " 

Kachef  Youssouf  is  handsome,  and,  were  it  not  the  noble 
Sitta  Nefysseh,  exception  would  be  taken  to  a  woman's  hav- 
ing so  handsome  a  kachef  in  her  service.  But  Sitta  Nefysseh 
is  unapproachable,  virtue  attends  her  in  all  her  ways,  modesty 
and  dignity  are  everywhere  her  companions.  No  one  dares 
approach  her  chaste  reputation  with  even  a  breath  of  re- 
proach. 

Youssouf  steps  into  the  inner  court-yard  ;  he  lays  his  hand 
on  his  brown  beard  and  strokes  its  curly  locks. 

"Be  a  man,"  murmur  his  lips.  "Be  resolute.  Alas!  I 
could  endure  not  being  the  one  if  no  other  dared  approach 
her.  But  here  comes  one  of  them  already.  He  can  approach 
her  and  speak  of  love.  Woe  is  me  I " 

With  profound  deference,  and  forcing  his  features  into  a 
smile,  Youssouf  approached  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  who  at  this 
moment  came  into  the  court,  mounted  on  his  proud,  splendid- 
ly-equipped steed,  and  followed  by  a  body  of  his  Mamelukes. 

"  Is  your  mistress  at  home  ? "  asked  Bardissi,  springing 
lightly  to  the  ground,  and  throwing  the  purple-silk  reins  to 
the  Mameluke  who  hurried  forward. 

"  Yes,  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  in  the  park.  She  is  resting  in  the 
kiosk,  and  I  will  announce  to  the  female  slaves  that  Osman 
Bey  Bardissi  wishes  to  see  their  mistress." 

''  Do  so,  Kachef  Youssouf,"  said  Bardissi.  "  But  first  listen 
to  me.  How  would  you  like  to  be  taken  into  my  service, 
kachef  ?  you  are  too  good  for  this  life  of  inactivity  ?  If  you 
desire  it,  I  will  ask  Sitta  Nefysseh  to  give  you  your  freedom  ? " 

"  Give  me  my  freedom  ?  I  am  free  ! "  said  Youssouf,  re- 
garding Bardissi  with  proud  composure.  "  I  was  a  Mameluke 
with  Mourad,  as  you  know.  My  noble  master  had  purchased 
me ;  he  loved  me,  and  often  told  me  I  should  remain  with 
him  while  I  lived.  He  made  me  kachef,  first  kachef  of  his 
house.  I  swore  eternal  fidelity  to  him  and  to  his  house,  and 
I  will  keep  my  oath." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  replied  Bardissi,  in  kindly  tones  ;  "  I 
only  mean,  Youssouf,  that  you  are  too  young  not  to  wish  to 


SITTA  NEFYSSEH.  291 

wield  the  sword  and  join  xis  in  the  conflict  that  is  soon  to  be 
renewed.  Poor  Youssouf,  you  will  then  be  shut  out  from  our 
ranks,  for  Sitta  Nefysseh  no  longer  sends  her  Mamelukes  with 
us  to  battle ;  she  now  uses  them  for  her  service  only,  and  I  am 
certain  she  would  be  well  pleased  if  her  kachef  Youssouf,  as 
it  becomes  him,  draws  his  sword  to  win  laurels  in  the  field. 
You  can  make  something  great  of  yourself.  Look  at  me, 
Youssouf  :  I  was  what  you  are  ;  like  you  a  Mameluke,  also 
like  you  a  kachef,  and  could  let  my  beard  grow,  and  now  I 
am  a  Mameluke  bey,  and  three  thousand  servants  follow  me 
to  battle.  You  might  accomplish  as  much,  Youssouf." 

"1  am  satisfied  with  what  I  am,  and  ask  for  nothing  more," 
replied  the  kachef.  "  I  swore  to  Mourad  Bey  to  serve  him  and 
his  house  my  life  long,  and  I  will  keep  my  oath  :  I  therefore 
entreat  you  to  say  nothing  to  Sitta  Nefysseh.  She  might  be 
displeased." 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  Bardissi ;  "  remain  true  to  your  word. 
And  now  go  and  inquire  whether  your  mistress  can  see  me." 

Youssouf  hastened  to  where  the  slaves  were  still  singing 
their  melancholy  song,  and  sent  one  of  them  down  into  the 
park  to  inform  her  that  the  Mameluke  bey,  Osman  Bardissi, 
had  come,  and  desired  to  see  her. 

The  slave  advanced  timidly  to  the  entrance  of  the  kiosk, 
and  announced  the  visitor  to  Sitta  Nefysseh,  who,  awakening 
from  a  dream  she  had  dreamed  with  open  eyes,  gently  inclined 
her  head. 

"  He  is  welcome.  Conduct  him  to  me. — Come  nearer,  ye 
slaves,  and  seat  yourselves  behind  that  clump  of  rose-bushes. 
You  can  sing  and  play  while  I  am  receiving  my  visitor,  for 
Osman  Bey  loves  music.  Do  me  honor,  my  slaves,  and  sing 
the  love-songs  of  Djumeil  and  his  Lubna." 

Bardissi  cannot  see  these  musicians  as  he  advances  toward 
the  kiosk,  conducted  by  the  slave  ;  he  only  hears  and  rejoices 
in  their  song. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  has  risen  from  her  cushions,  but  she  has  not 
covered  her  face  with  the  veil  which,  fastened  to  her  hair  with 
golden  clasps,  falls  back  over  her  shoulders.  The  widow,  and 
above  all  the  widow  of  the  bey,  is  allowed  to  remain  unveiled 
in  the  presence  of  a  friend.  The  great  prophet  never  com- 


292  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

manded  that  the  wives  of  Moslems  should  appear  veiled  in 
their  own  houses  ;  the  jealousy  of  their  husbands  had  gradu- 
ally imposed  this  burden  upon  them.  Conscious  of  her  own 
worth  and  dignity,  Sitta  Nefysseh  feels  herself  free  to  disre- 
gard such  requirement.  She  turns  her  lovely  countenance 
with  a  gentle  smile  toward  the  advancing  bey,  and  Bardissi 
feels  the  glance  of  her  large  eyes,  though  he  does  not  see  them. 
He  feels  it,  and  moves  not,  a  slight  tremor  possessing  itself  of 
his  entire  being. 

What !  Bardissi  trembles  !— the  hero,  who  amid  the  din  of 
battle  joyously  confronts  the  death-dealing  cannon,  who  never 
trembles,  though  face  to  face  with  a  whole  forest  of  spears— 
Bardissi  trembles  and  turns  pale  1 

Sitta  Nefysseh  sees  it,  and  her  smile  brightens.  ''Why  do 
you  hesitate  to  approach,  Osman  ?  and  what  have  you  to  say 
to  me,  friend  of  my  husband,  Mourad  Bey  ? " 

She  wishes  to  remind  him  that  he  had  been  Mourad's  friend. 
He  well  understands  her  meaning,  and,  stepping  quickly  for- 
ward, falls  on  his  knee  before  her,  and  reverently  kisses  the 
hem  of  her  dress. 

"  I  paused,  0  Sitta,  Rose  of  Cairo— I  paused  because  I  heard 
the  song  of  the  slaves — they  are  singing  my  favorite  song." 

"  The  song  is  known  to  you  ? "  said  Sitta  Nefysseh. 

"It  is.  Do  you  know,  Sitta,  when  I  first  heard  this 
song  ? " 

"I  do  not,"  replied  she,  shaking  her  head  gently. 

"  May  I  tell  you  ? '» 

"  Do  so  ;  seat  yourself  on  the  marble  stool  standing  at  the 
entrance  of  the  kiosk,  and  tell  me." 

She  falls  back  upon  her  cushion  with  the  easy  grace  of  a 
swan.  But  Bardissi  does  not  take  the  seat  so  graciously  as- 
signed him.  He  steps  forward  and  remains  standing  in  front 
of  Sitta  Nefysseh,  gazing  down  upon  her  with  reverence  and 
delight,  as  though  his  glances  were  a  consecrated  gold-in- 
worked  veil  in  which  he  wishes  to  envelop  her  lovely  form, 
and  draw  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Well,  Osman  Bey,  when  did  you  first  hear  this  song  ? " 

He  remains  silent  for  a  moment ;  the  bees  are  humming 
in  the  air,  the  fountains  flashing,  and  from  the  distance  the 


SITTA  NEFYSSEH.  293 

words  of  the  song  the  slaves  are  singing  are  wafted  over  by 
the  gentle  breeze  : 

"  Thee  alone  on  earth  have  I  loved.  My  longing  heart  is 
drawn  to  thee.  And,  though  this  earth  were  heaven,  and  it 
contained  my  Lubna  not,  I'd  wander  rather  through  the  gates 
of  bell  if  I  but  knew  my  Lubna  there  ! " 

"  If  I  but  knew  my  Lubna  there  ! "  repeated  Osman  Bey, 
in  low,  tremulous  tones. — "  You  wish  to  know  when  I  first 
heard  this  song  ?  I  will  tell  you.  It  was  on  the  evening 
of  a  bloody  day  of  battle  ;  I  had  ridden  at  the  side  of  our 
great  chieftain,  Mourad  Bey.  He  called  me  his  friend,  his—" 

"His  favorite,"  said  Sitta  Nefysseh,  interrupting  him. 
"  He  said  he  loved  you  like  a  brother,  and  would  confide  to 
you  without  fear  or  hesitation  all  he  loved  best — his  wife,  his 
child— knowing  that  they  would  be  guarded  and  held  sacred 
as  though  they  were  in  the  holiest  niche  of  the  mosque.  Yes, 
my  noble  husband  loved  you.  And  now,  speak  on.  You  had 
gone  out  to  battle." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  bloody  day.  The  angel  of  death  hovered 
over  us,  and  the  swords  of  the  enemy  swept  heavily  upon  our 
ranks.  A  sabre-stroke  dealt  by  Bashi  Seref  fell  upon  the 
sword-arm  of  my  noble  friend,  striking  him  down  and  dis- 
abling him.  The  Turk  was  preparing  to  deal  a  second  blow, 
when  I  struck  him  to  the  earth  with  my  ataghan.  I  then 
bore  my  friend  from  the  conflict  to  his  tent,  and  there  you 
were,  Sitta  Nefysseh.  You  received  the  hero  from  my  arms, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  saw  your  unveiled  countenance.  I 
then  returned  to  the  battle,  and  took  Mourad 's  place  at  the 
head  of  his  Mamelukes.  Whether  it  was  anger  over  the 
wounding  of  my  friend,  or  the  bliss  caused  by  the  lovely 
image  I  had  beheld,  I  know  not,  but  my  arm  was  strong  and 
mighty,  and  love  and  heroism  exulted  in  my  heart.  I  called 
out  to  the  Mamelukes,  '  We  must  and  will  die  or  conquer  ! ' 
But,  being  still  too  young  to  die,  and  loving  life  too  well,  we 
conquered.  The  enemy  was  driven  from  the  field,  and  ours 
was  the  victory.  We  encamped  on  the  field  after  the  bloody 
conflict ;  and  then,  having  won  the  victory,  I  felt  privileged, 
when  evening  came,  to  repair  to  Mourad's  tent  to  report  our 
success. 


294  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

u  No  one  was  there  to  announce  me  ;  I  drew  back  the  cur- 
tain and  entered  the  first  room.  No  one  was  there,  and  the 
curtain  of  the  inner  apartment  of  the  tent  was  half  drawn 
aside.  I  went  no  farther,  knowing  that  the  wounded  Mourad 
lay  there  on  his  cushions,  and  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  was  with 
him.  I  knew  this  because  I  heard  her  singing  ;  she  sang  her 
beloved  to  sleep  as  a  mother  lulls  her  babe  to  rest,  or  as  the 
houris  sing  in  paradise,  when  they  in  wondrous  melody  an- 
nounce the  joys  of  heaven  to  dying  mortals. 

"  I  remained  standing  in  the  tent  and  listened  to  your  song, 
Sitta  Nefysseh.  You  sang  to  your  husband  of  love  and  happi- 
ness—sang in  sweet  words  what  Djumeil  says  to  his  Lubna  : 
'  Nature  breathes  love.  The  bird  in  the  air  sings  of  love  ;  the 
spring  which  bubbles  at  your  feet  murmurs  of  love  ;  the  rose 
that  blossoms  in  the  garden  sheds  love's  fragrance— all  is  love 
and  bliss.  Woe  to  them  who  know  nothing  more  of  love, 
woe  to  them  who  bear  a  cold  heart  in  their  bosom.'  This  you 
sang,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  I  stood  listening,  entranced.  What 
I  then  felt  was  so  all-absorbing,  so  divinely  beautiful,  that  I 
was  unwilling  to  have  the  harmony  of  that  sweet  moment 
broken  in  upon  by  the  voice  of  man.  I  silently  withdrew  ; 
your  song  informed  me  that  Mourad  slept  and  was  in  heavenly 
bliss.  I  noiselessly  left  the  tent,  and  stepped  out  into  the 
night.  The  moon  shed  its  soft  light  around,  enveloping  the 
white  tents  scattered  over  the  plain  and  the  terrors  of  the  day 
in  a  heavenly,  silver  veil. 

"  I  did  not  return  to  my  tent  that  night,  however.  Where 
was  I  ?  If  you  should  ask,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  I  could  not  tell 
you.  But  this  much  I  can  tell  you,  I  was  in  paradise  !  I 
thought  of  this  when  I  just  now  heard  your  slaves  sing  the 
song  I  then  heard  for  the  first  time,  and  that  has  resounded  in 
my  heart  ever  since.  I  covered  it  with  thick  veils,  and  laid 
my  hand  on  it  to  silence  it :  and  I  found  it  possible  to  do  so 
while  my  noble  friend  Mourad  still  lived.  I  forced  my  heart 
to  bury  in  its  depths  its  wishes  and  longings.  I  have  been  silent, 
Sitta  Nefysseh,  not  only  while  Mourad  lived,  but  I  have  also 
honored  the  period  allotted  to  a  widow's  mourning.  But 
this  is  now  passed  ;  pain  has  vanished  from  your  heart,  I 
trust.  Your  heavenly  countenance  is  again  radiant  with 


SITTA  NEFYSSEH.  295 

youthful  loveliness,  and  no  longer  shows  the  traces  of  sor- 
row." 

"  It  is  true,  Osman  Bey,"  said  Nefysseh,  with  a  low  sigh  ; 
"time  heals  all  wounds,  and  sorrow  no  longer  darkens  my 
soul  ;  yet  know  that  Mourad  Bey  still  lives  in  my  heart,  and 
it  is  because  he  still  lives  for  me  that  I  am  able  to  bear  this 
life  and  this  separation." 

"I  well  know,  O  Sitta,  your  fidelity,  your  noble  senti- 
ments," replied  Bardissi  ;  "  it  is  this  knowledge  that  makes  me 
adore  and  reverence  you  ;  and  were  it  not  strange  if  I,  too, 
could  ever  forget  the  man  who  loved  you  so  passionately,  and 
whose  memory  you  still  love  ?  But  such  love,  Sitta,  excites 
no  jealousy,  and  even  he  who  loves  passionately  respects  such 
love.  Listen  to  me,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ;  hear  why  I  have  come 
to  you  ;  I  can  endure  it  no  longer  ;  the  seal  must  at  last  fall 
from  his  lips,  and  Bardissi  must  give  utterance  to  what  he 
feels,  to  that  which  glows  in  his  heart,  and  can  no  longer  be 
repressed.  Yes,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  you  must  at  last  hear  that 
I  am  dying  for  love,  and  that  if  you  refuse  to  hear  me,  I 
must—" 

"  Silence  ! "  exclaimed  Nefysseh,  interrupting  him,  with 
queenly  composure,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat — "  silence.  Os- 
man Bey  !  do  you  not  know  that  my  husband  Mourad  lived 
here  in  this  garden,  in  this  place  ?  How  could  his  wife,  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  have  received  you  unveiled  if  her  husband  had  not 
stood  by  her  side  ?  Do  you  not  see  him,  Osman  Bey  ?  Do  you 
not  see  his  eyes  fixed  on  you  with  an  angry  expression,  and 
do  not  his  lips  ask  his  friend  how  he  can  betray  friendship  ? 
What  was  your  promise  to  Mourad  ?  To  honor  and  guard  his 
wife  while  you  lived." 

"And  I  will,  Sitta  Nefysseh.  I  do  guard  and  honor  her, 
but  I  also  love  her  as  ardently  as  ever  man  loved  woman  !  " 
exclaimed  Bardissi,  in  passionate  tones.  "Does  not  man 
honor  woman  most  when  he  loves  her  best  ?  How  can  I  bet- 
ter prove  my  adoration  and  reverence  than  by  laying  my  life 
at  your  feet,  and  saying,  in  tones  of  humble  entreaty,  '  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  be  my  wife,  follow  me  to  my  house,  and  be  mistress 
of  myself  and  of  all  that  I  am  ?  " 

"  Do  not  say  this,  Osman  Bey,  I  entreat  you,  do  not  speak 


296  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

thus  to  me  !  "  cried  Sitta  Nefysseh  in  a  loud  voice.  "  It  would 
give  pain  to  me  to  have  to  answer  you,  and  it  will  be  better 
not  to  have  heard  your  words.  I  call  you  friend,  and  I  wish 
you  to  remain  my  friend  all  your  life  long.  Yet,  hear  me  ; 
my  heart  is  open  to  no  other  love,  and  my  hands  must 
remain  unfettered.  Mourad's  widow  remains  true  to  her- 
self, and  to  him  who  dwells  in  her  heart,  and  is  ever 
at  her  side.  Let  us  forget,  Osman,  what  you,  carried  away 
by  your  friendship,  have  said.  You  thought  Mourad's  wife 
felt  herself  alone  in  the  world,  and.  out  of  friendship  for 
your  deceased  friend,  you  desired  to  offer  her  the  support 
of  your  heroic  hand.  If  ever  I  should  need  assistance,  and 
a  friend,  rest  assured,  Osman,  I  shall  call  on  you.  But  now, 
step  back,  one  of  my  slaves  is  approaching  with  a  mes- 
sage. Turn  your  countenance  away,  Osman,  it  looks  so 
gloomy  and  passionate  ;  I  would  not  have  her  notice  your 
love.'' 

He  turns  aside,  and  seems  to  be  listening  to  the  distant 
singing  and  playing  of  the  slaves  ;  he,  however,  hears  the 
slave,  who  now  enters  the  kiosk,  announce  that  L'Elfi  Bey  de- 
sires to  see  her  mistress.  He  hears  it,  and  shudders.  L'Elfi 
Bey,  his  friend  and  companion-in-arms  ;  what  brings  him 
here  to  Mourad's  widow  ? 

Sitta  Nefysseh  sends  word  that  the  bey  is  welcome,  and  the 
slave  departs  on  her  errand. 

'•  L'Elfi  Bey  is  permitted  to  come  to  you  ! " 

"  And  why  not  ? ''  asked  she  proudly.  "  Was  not  Osman 
Bey  permitted  to  visit  me,  and  was  not  L'Elfi  also  my  hus- 
band's friend  ? " 

"  It  is  true  ;  forgive  my  thoughtlessness,"  replied  Osman  in 
low  and  almost  angry  tones.  "  Permit  me  to  take  my  leave, 
Sitta  Nefysseh.  I  do  not  wish  to  disturb  your  interview  with 
the  great  L'Elfi  Bey." 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  will  please  remain,"  replied  she, 
quietly,  gracefully  drawing  her  fragrant  veil  over  her  head, 
and  covering  her  face. 

Bardissi's  heroic  countenance  became  radiant  with  delight. 
She  had  received  him  unveiled,  and  now  that  L'Elfi  comes  she 
veils  herself.  Allah  be  praised,  that  is  a  favorable  omen  ;  a 


L'ELFI  BEY.  207 

ray  of  light  penetrating  the  gloom  that  enveloped  his  soul ; 
he  has  seen  her  unveiled,  and — 

"  L'Elfl  Bey  comes,"  said  Sitta  Nefysseh,  rising  to  welcome 
her  new  visitor. 


CHAPTER  X. 
L'ELFI  BEY. 

HAUGHTILY  erect,  the  bey  advanced,  followed  by  four 
Mamelukes  in  rich,  gold-embroidered  garments,  who  bore  a 
casket  covered  with  a  purple  cloth,  whose  golden  fringe  hung 
down  to  the  ground. 

As  L'Elfl  came  near,  his  countenance  assumed  a  deferential 
appearance,  and,  his  arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  he  stepped  for- 
ward and  bowed  profoundly  before  Sitta  Nefysseh. 

"  Queen  of  my  heart,  sun  of  my  eyes  !  Allow  me  to  do 
homage,  and  to  lay  my  present  at  your  feet  as  a  token  of  my 
devotion  ! " 

He  beckoned  to  the  Mamelukes  to  come  forward  and  lay 
the  casket  down  before  her. 

"  I  rejoice  that  you  have  come,  L'Elfl;'  said  Nefysseh,  quiet- 
ly. "  I  rejoice,  because  it  proves  that  your  wounds  are  now 
healed,  as  are  those  of  Osman  Bey.  Yet,  I  see  no  necessity  for 
such  outward  proofs  of  your  friendship." 

"  0  Sitta  Nefysseh  !  "  cried  L'Elfl.  "  One  brings  his  offer- 
ings to  the  good  spirits,  and,  if  I  were  a  heathen,  I  would  say, 
'  I  lay  on  the  altar  of  my  goddess  the  tokens  of  my  adoration, 
of  my  love  ! ' ' 

"  You  are,  however,  no  heathen,  but  a  Moslem  ;  and  what 
becomes  a  heathen  does  not  become  the  brave  Mameluke  L'Elfl 
Bey  ! " 

"  What  I  am  elsewhere  is  forgotten,"  cried  L'Elfl  ;  "  here  I 
am  nothing  but  your  slave,  nothing  but  a  man  who  would 
gladly  pluck  the  stars  from  heaven  to  lay  them  at  your  feet ! 
Therefore  allow  me  to  do  homage  to  my  queen  as  my  heart 
prompts  ! " 

He  drew  the  cloth  from  the  casket,  and  golden  dishes,  gob- 
20 


298  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

lets,  and  vases,  glittered  in  the  sunshine  ;  and  these  vessels 
contained  jewelry  of  varied  design,  set  with  precious  stones 
that  would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  many. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  regarded  all  this  magnificence  with  an  air 
of  indifference. 

u  Accept  the  offering  my  adoration  lays  at  your  feet !  "  en- 
treated L'Elfi.  "  You  know  I  was  with  the  British  general  in 
England,  and,  while  there,  I  thought  of  you,  and,  before  the 
ship  left  London,  it  was  for  days  my  sole  occupation  and  en- 
deavor to  select  beautiful  things  for  you  from  among  the  arti- 
cles displayed  in  the  magnificent  stores.  I  could  not  bring 
them  with  me,  but  they  were  sent  after  me,  and  have  this  day 
arrived.  Pray  accept  them  at  the  hands  of  your  slave  !  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  no  one  is  privileged  to  offer  Mourad 
Bey's  wridow  presents  of  such  value,*'  said  she,  almost  severely. 
"  Yet,"  she  continued  in  milder  tones,  "  I  will  not  humiliate 
him  who  was  my  husband's  friend  and  companion.  I  will  ac- 
cept your  gifts  ;  they  shall  be  placed  in  the  saloon,  and  all  the 
world  shall  see  how  L'Elfi  Bey  seeks  to  honor  the  widow  of 
his  former  chieftain  and  friend.  Thus  will  I  accept  your  gifts, 
and  give  you  thanks  for  them  ! — Come,  Osman  Bardissi  ! " 
she  continued  in  louder  tones,  beckoning  to  the  bey,  who  stood 
without  in  the  shade  of  an  oleander-tree — "  come  and  see  the 
magnificent  presents  which  L'Elfi  Bey  has  brought  me  from 
England  ! " 

L'ElfTs  countenance  darkened,  and  he  recoiled  a  step  almost 
in  anger.  "  What !  Osman  Bey  is  here  ?  " 

"And  why  not?  He  has  recovered  from  the  wounds  re- 
ceived at  Aboukir.  Does  it  not  become  him  to  pay  his  re- 
spects to  me  ?  He  has  this  privilege  in  common  with  your- 
self." 

"  True,  my  queen  ;  pray  forgive  me  for  daring  to  find  fault 
with  your  pleasure. — I  greet  you,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  here  !  And  now,  I  pray  you,  let  me  also  see 
the  gifts  which  you  have  brought  the  Eose  of  Cairo  in  token 
of  your  reverence  and  devotion.  What  becomes  you,  becomes 
me  also  ;  and,  as  Sitta  Nefysseh  has  allowed  you  to  see  what  I 
have  brought,  she  will  not  refuse  to  permit  me  to  see  the  offer- 
ing of  your  devotion." 


L'ELFI  BEY.  299 

"  You  shall  see  it,  L'Elfl  Bey,"  said  Osman,  in  a  somewhat 
derisive  tone.  He  stepped  to  the  lattice-work  of  the  kiosk, 
and,  plucking  the  most  beautiful  crimson  rose  he  could  see, 
knelt  down  before  Sitta  Nefysseh  and  laid  it  at  her  feet. 
"  This,  Sitta,  is  my  gift.  I  lay  at  your  feet,  the  most  beautiful 
of  your  sisters,  your  image  !  " 

She  smiled.  "  I  thank  you,  Osman  Bey,  and  gladly  accept 
your  offering,  for  Allah  has  created  it." 

He  handed  her  the  rose.  She  took  it,  held  it  to  her  face, 
and  inhaled  its  fragrance.  She  then  gracefully  fell  back  on 
her  cushion. 

''  Arise,  Bardissi !  "  said  she.  "  I  have  accepted  the  gifts  of 
both  of  you  ;  and,  now  that  you  are  both  the  same  in  senti- 
ment, but  one  thing  is  wanting." 

"  And  what  is  this  one  thing  still  wanting  ?  " 

"  Grasp  each  other's  hands,"  said  she,  smiling.  "  I  know 
that  you  have  long  been  at  enmity  with  each  other  ;  discord 
prevails  in  the  land  of  my  great  beys.  Let  hatred  now  be  set 
aside.  You  are  both  mighty  and  renowned,  but  your  power 
will  be  much  greater  if  you  join  hands.  Let  your  followers 
see  that  you  stand  united  against  the  common  enemy.  Oh, 
how  can  the  fatherland  be  saved  when  its  defenders  are  at 
enmity  with  each  other  !  The  enemy  has  grown  stronger. 
You  know  that  new  troops  have  arrived  here  from  Turkey, 
and  a  man  is  at  their  head,  of  whom  I  will  announce  to  you 
that  he  is  dangerous.  Therefore  grasp  hands,  and  let  me  see 
that  you  are  friends  !  " 

"  Then  let  it  be  so,"  said  Bardissi,  after  a  pause.  "  See,  Sit- 
ta Nefysseh,  how  great  your  power  over  me. — Here,  L'Elfi,  my 
hand  !  Let  us  unitedly  face  the  enemy  !  " 

L'Elfl.  slowly  and  hesitatingly  laid  his  hand  in  that  of  Os- 
man Bey.  "  I  accept  your  hand,  Osman,  in  token  of  our  re- 
solve to  confront  the  enemy  together.  But,  before  I  declare 
myself  your  friend,  I  must  first  know  whether  you  are  my 
rival  or  not." 

Osman  Bey  quickly  withdrew  his  hand.  "  A  rival,  L'Elfl  ! 
and  with  whom  do  you  suppose  me  to  be  your  rival  ?  " 

"  With  you,  O  Sitta  Nefysseh  ! "  said  L'Elfi,  falling  on  his 
knee  before  her.  u  With  you,  whom  I  adore  as  one  adores  the 


300  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

sun  and  the  stars.  For  your  love,  I  can  tolerate  no  rival ! — 
And  now  I  beg  you  to  withdraw,  Osman  Bey  ;  I  have  that  to 
say  to  Sitta  Nefysseh  which  no  other  should  hear." 

Osman  regarded  him  fiercely.  "  I  should  like  to  know  if 
L'Elfi  is  privileged  to  advise  or  command  Osman  Bey  Bardissi 
here,  where  it  devolves  upon  Sitta  Nefysseh  alone  to  determine 
who  shall  go,  and  who  remain." 

"  Then  decide.  O  Sitta  !  "  said  L'Elfi. 

"You  shall  both  go  ;  neither  shall  remain,"  replied  she, 
sadly.  "  I  see  that  you  are  still  enemies.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  you 
will  reap  a  bitter  harvest  from  this  bitter  seed.  The  struggle, 
in  which  you  should  present  to  the  enemy  a  united  front,  al- 
ready begins,  and  you  are  still  at  enmity.  Therefore,  I 
say  to  you,  leave  me,  and  return  no  more  ;  while  hatred  ex- 
ists between  you,  you  shall  never  more  come  into  my  pres- 
ence ! ' 

"  Forgiveness,  forgiveness  !  Our  hatred  shall  be  forgot- 
ten !  "  exclaimed  both,  falling  upon  their  knees  before  her. 

"  My  only  entreaty  is  this,"  cried  L'Elfi.  "  Allow  me  a 
brief  quarter  of  an  hour.  Was  not  Osman  Bey  honored  with 
an  audience  alone,  and  would  it  not  become  you  to  show  me 
the  same  favor  ?  " 

"  He  was  the  first  who  came,"  replied  she,  quickly,  "  and, 
therefore,  was  I  alone  with  him.  Had  you  accompanied-  him, 
you  would  have  heard  what  he  had  to  say,  just  as  he  shall 
hear  -what  you  have  to  say." 

"  Then  let  it  be  so  ;  he  shall  hear  ! "  exclaimed  L'Elfi, 
springing  to  his  feet.  He  first  turned  haughtily  to  Osman 
Bey,  and  then  bowed  profoundly  before  Sitta  Nefysseh.  "  Let 
the  whole  world  hear  what  L'Elfi  has  to  say  to  the  widow  of 
his  friend.  He  comes  here  to  lay  all  he  possesses  at  your  feet. 
He  desires  to  consecrate  to  you  his  life  and  heart's  blood,  and 
entreats  the  loveliest  and  noblest  of  women  to  hear  his  prayers. 
L'Elfi  is  free  !  No  wife  has  ever  stood  at  his  side  ;  he  has  no 
harem,  as  many  others  have.  He  has  never,  like  others,  re- 
clined on  soft  cushions  gazing  at  the  dancing  of  the  voluptu- 
ous almehs — has  loved  naught  but  his  sword  and  ataghan  ; 
but  his  heart  is  now  inclined  in  love  and  humility  toward  you, 
the  only  woman  it  owns  as  its  mistress  ;  and  I  now  entreat 


L'ELFI  BEY.  301 

you,  0  Sitta  Nefysseh,  queen  of  my  heart,  become  also  queen 
of  my  house  and  harem." 

"  As  he  entreats,  so  do  I  entreat  also  ! "  cried  Osman  Bey, 
in  angry  tones,  thrusting  L'Elfl  aside,  and  falling  on  his 
knee  before  her.  "  Be  mine,  Nefysseh  1  True,  I  have  loved 
others,  and  have  also  looked  with  pleasure  at  the  dancing  of 
the  female  slaves  in  the  harem,  yet  I  have  hitherto  adored  no 
woman.  Military  glory,  my  adoration  heretofore,  grows  pale 
when  Sitta  Nefysseh  appears,  and  all  else  that  I  have  loved 
and  hoped  for  is  as  nothing  in  her  presence.  For  your  sake, 
I  will  sacrifice  not  only  life,  but  renown.  Command,  and  I 
will  be  your  slave  ;  at  your  feet  will  I  lay  my  sword  and  dag- 
ger. With  my  head  bowed  down,  and  my  beard  shorn,  will  I 
follow  you  into  the  desert,  blessing  each  day  and  hour  in 
which  I  am  permitted  to  look  upon  my  queen.  Now,  O  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  you  know  what  Osman  Bey  Bardissi  feels,  and  that 
he  can  boast  of  a  greater  love  than  L'Elfi  ;  he  even  offers  to 
sacrifice  renown  for  you  !  Decide  whom  you  will  bless,  Ne- 
fysseh !  One  thing  more  I  will  say  to  you  :  if  you  select  the 
hand  of  my  rival,  and  command  me  to  love  him,  I  cannot 
promise  to  do  so  I  Yet  this  I  swear,  that  I  will  be  contented 
with  your  choice,  and  that  I  will  never  seek  to  take  or  shorten 
his  life.  Consider,  Nefysseh,  that  this  is  the  most  enormous 
sacrifice  that  Osman  can  make  for  the  woman  he  loves  :  he 
promises  not  to  kill  him  upon  whom  she  bestows  her  hand." 

"  And  you,  L'Elfi,"  said  Nefysseh,  in  a  soft  voice,  "  will  you 
swear  the  same  ? " 

"  I  will,"  cried  L'Elfi.  "  I  swear  that  I  will  do  as  Osman 
Bey  has  said — I  will  still  detest  my  enemy,  but  I  will  not  kill 
him  whom  you  love.  Now  speak,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  decide 
between  us  ! " 

For  a  moment  all  were  silent.  The  two  beys  awaited  her 
decision  with  wildly-throbbing  hearts.  She  was  still  silent, 
her  large  eyes  turned  toward  heaven  with  a  wondrous  expres- 
sion. 

At  this  moment  the  song  of  the  slaves,  accompanied  by  the 
music  of  the  clarinet  and  violin,  again  resounded  from  the 
midst  of  the  oleander  and  rose-bushes.  The  voice  of  a  slave 
arose,  singing  of  a  slave  who  loves  his  mistress,  and  dies  be- 


302  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

cause  of  her  indifference.  He  has  borne  this  hitter  sorrow  for 
long  days  and  nights,  and  dares  not  tell  the  tale  of  his  love. 
He  bore  it,  and  was  blessed  in  being  permitted  to  see  her,  but 
her  heart  was  cold  and  knew  no  love  for  him.  But  greater  un- 
happiness  was  in  store  for  him.  .One  day  there  came  a  proud 
and  mighty  bey,  and  succeeded  in  winning  the  love  of  his 
adored  ;  and  Fate  willed  it  that  the  poor,  tortured  slave  should 
see  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  bey  in  a  loving  gaze,  and  he  also  saw 
him  fall  on  his  knees  before  his  mistress  and  take  her  hand 
and  carry  it  to  his  lips.  Then  the  poor  slave's  heart  broke, 
and,  falling  to  the  earth,  he  died,  sighing,  "  I  love  thee  ! " 

All  three  had  listened  to  the  sad  air  and  words  of  the  song. 
Sitta  Nefysseh  now  turned  to  the  beys. 

"  This  song  has  no  bearing  upon  you.  You  will  never  see 
Sitta  Nefysseh  give  her  love  and  hand  to  another  !  You  who 
were  my  husband's  friends  I  will  ever  consider  my  friends  ! 
But  hear  me  :  Mourad's  widow  will  never  marry  again  !  As 
I  knelt  at  the  death-bed  of  my  husband,  bathing  his  wound 
with  my  tears,  I  swore  that  I  would  ever  remain  true  to  him 
I  had  loved  so  ardently  my  life  long,  and  never  become  the 
wife  of  another.  And  now  I  ask,  noble  beys,  can  you  desire 
Mourad's  widow  to  perjure  herself  ?  I  know  you  will  say  the 
heart  knows  no  oaths,  love  cannot  be  restrained.  That  may 
be,  but  do  not  speak  of  it  to  me.  You  have  come  to  ask  with 
which  of  you  I  will  share  the  remainder  of  my  days  ;  I  ask 
you,  decide  yourselves,  can  I  break  this  solemn  oath  ? " 

The  two  beys  bow  their  heads  still  deeper,  and  sigh  pro- 
foundly. 

"  Decide  ! "  repeated  Sitta  Nefysseh. 

They  raise  their  heads  and  gaze  at  her  sadly.  "  No.  Sitta 
Nefysseh  1  You  may  not  break  the  oath  to  your  husband, 
sworn  in  the  name  of  Allah  and  the  prophet !  No,  you  can 
never  bestow  your  hand  upon  another.  Alas,  that  this  is  so  ! 
alas,  that  we  must  submit  ! " 

"  No,  it  is  well  that  it  is  so  ! "  said  Sitta  Nefysseh,  with  a 
soft  smile.  "  Mourad's  widow  has  the  right  to  be  the  friend 
of  both  of  you  ;  she  may  hold  out  her  hands  to  you  and 
say  :  '  Be  my  friends,  my  brothers,  and,  as  you  love  me,  also 
love  one  another.'  For  the  second  time  I  entreat  you,  grasp 


L'ELFI   BEY.  393 

each  other's  hands  and  be  friends.  For  both  let  there  be  one 
common  enemy— the  enemy  who  confronts  you  on  the  field 
of  battle — the  Turk  !  Grasp  hands  in  love  and  friendship  ! " 

The  two  beys  grasped  each  other's  hands  firmly. 

"  Let  it  be  as  our  friend  and  sister  wishes  ;  she  shall  see  us 
united.  Let  there  be  for  us  but  one  common  enemy — the 
Turk  ! " 

"  An  enemy  who  grows  stronger  each  day  ! "  said  Sitta 
Nefysseh.  "We  thought  to  have  peace  when  the  Franks 
should  have  left,  but  unfortunately  it  is  not  so.  The  Turks 
are  resolved  to  subjugate  us.  I  know  they  will  not  rest  until 
they  have  overthrown  and  destroyed  the  haughty  Mameluke 
beys  !  They  are  continually  bringing  new  troops  into  the 
country,  and  their  leader  is  a  dangerous  enemy,  believe  me  ! " 

"  For  the  second  time  you  speak  of  this '  dangerous  enemy.' 
Tell  us,  Sitta,  who  is  he  ? " 

"  He  it  is,"  said  she,  in  earnest  tones,  "  who  brought  the 
letter  to  the  capitan  pacha  at  Aboukir  ;  he  it  is  who  confront- 
ed you  in  that  bloody  struggle,  and  whose  courage,  boldness, 
and  determination,  captured  the  stronghold  Rosetta.  I  have 
read  the  countenance  of  the  sarechsme,  and  in  his  eye  I  have 
recognized  the  lion  and  the  fox  combined.  Before  him,  I 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  experienced  fear.  Beware  of  him  ; 
if  possible,  make  a  friend  of  him,  for  the  sarechsme,  Moham- 
med Ali,  would  prove  a  mighty  ally  ! " 

"  I  know  him  well,"  said  Osman  Bey,  smiling.  "  I  met 
him  when  a  boy,  and  even  then  we  confronted  each  other  as 
enemies.  A  short  time  since  I  met  him  again,  and  he  then 
protected  me  from  the  fury  of  his  soldiers  ;  and  I  am  grateful. 
I  will  endeavor,  Sitta,  to  win  him  over  to  our  interests,  as  you 
suggest.  If  we  succeed,  and  when  this  formidable  enemy 
shall  have  become  our  ally,  the  Mameluke  beys  will  have 
great  cause  to  congratulate  themselves,  and  thank  Sitta  Nefys- 
seh again." 

"  The  only  proof  of  your  gratitude  that  I  ask  is,  that  you 
stand  united.  Thank  me  by  pronouncing  my  name  when  you 
stand  side  by  side  on  the  battle-field,  from  which  you  have 
driven  the  enemy  !  " 

"  We  will  do  so.     Your  name  will  I  pronounce  when  I  go 


304  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

out  to  battle  !  And  your  name  will  my  lips  utter,  O  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  when  I  sink  down  upon  the  bloody  field  ! "  Thus 
spoke  both,  and  then  bowed  profoundly  before  Mourad's 
widow. 

"  And  now  you  may  go,"  said  she,  gently.  "  Walk  arm-in- 
arm through  the  Muskj  Street,  that  all  the  world  may  see  that 
the  two  greatest  Mameluke  beys  are  friends.  If  these  are 
united,  then  will  the  struggle  soon  terminate.  Now  go  and 
show  the  people  that  you  are  friends." 

"  And  if  they  express  surprise  at  our  friendship,"  cried  Os- 
man  Bey,  his  eyes  sparkling,  '\we  will  say  Mourad's  widow  wills 
it  so,  and  we  humbly  and  cheerfully  obey." 

"  Yes,  we  will  say  this,"  cried  1'Elfi,  joyously.  "  Mourad's 
widow  commanded  us  to  be  united,  and  therefore  are  we 
united. — And  now  let  us  go,  Osman  Bey  ;  it  is,  however, 
not  necessary  that  we  walk  arm-in-arm  here  ;  only  when 
we  have  passed  the  threshold  of  this  house  shall  Osman 
give  me  his  arm,  that  the  world  may  see  your  influence 
over  us." 

Osman  Bey  walked  rapidly  down  the  avenue.  L'Elfi  fol- 
lowed him  slowly  and  hesitatingly,  looking  back  twice  at  Sitta 
Nefysseh.  The  latter  waved  her  hand  deprecatingly,  and  he 
then  rapidly  followed  Osman. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  sighed  profoundly  as  the  two  disappeared 
through  the  gateway,  falling  back  upon  her  cushions  as  if 
overwhelmed  with  grief.  She  heard  nothing  of  the  music, 
that  still  resounded  from  the  rose-bushes  ;  she  heard  only  the 
secret  and  sacred  voices  which  lamented  in  her  soul,  and  she 
shuddered  at  what  they  said. 

"  No,  no,  it  may  not  be,"  said  she  to  herself.  "  I  saved  my- 
self from  their  importunity  by  the  falsehood  of  the  oath.  I 
never  swore  to  my  husband  that  Mourad's  wife  would  become 
the  wife  of  no  other.  It  was  not  because  an  oath  bound  her 
that  she  rejected  them  ;  but  because  her  heart  so  willed  it. 
Not  without  love  is  Mourad's  widow  ;  but  whom  she  loves  no 
one  must  know,  no  one  must  even  suspect." 

She  arose  and  threw  back  her  veil  to  wipe  away  the  tears 
that  burned  her  eyes.  Suddenly  she  trembled,  a  deep  blush 
overspreading  her  countenance.  She  saw  the  young  kachef 


L'ELFI   BEY.  305 

Youssouf  coming  up  the  walk.  She  saw  his  proud,  erect  figure, 
his  countenance  full  of  youthful  freshness  and  nobility.  She 
drew  her  veil  more  closely  about  her  ;  but  the  veil  cannot 
hide  the  brightness  of  her  eyes.  They  fairly  sparkled  as  he 
advanced.  He  approached  slowly.  She  seemed  not  to  see 
him,  leaned  back  on  her  cushions,  raised  the  crimson  rose  to 
her  face,  and  inhaled  its  fragrance.  Kachef  Youssouf,  his 
arms  folded  on  his  breast,  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the 
kiosk. 

"  Sitta  Nefysseh,  mistress,  you  command  to  have  your  car- 
riage ready,  as  you  wished  to  drive  out  at  this  hour.  It  is 
ready,  and  I  humbly  ask  if  it  is  your  pleasure  to  go  now,  and 
if  I  may  have  the  honor  of  accompanying  your  suite,  and  rid- 
ing at  the  side  of  your  carriage  ? " 

Sitta  Nefysseh,  who  was  still  inhaling  the  fragrance  of  the 
rose,  slowly  let  fall  her  hand  to  her  side,  and  the  flower  fell 
from  her  fingers  to  the  ground. 

"You  are  an  attentive,  punctual  servant,"  said  she.  "I 
thank  you  ;  I  will  drive  out  at  once  with  two  of  my  women ; 
you  may  ride  beside  my  carriage." 

Sitta  Nefysseh  arose  and  left  the  kiosk.  She  passed  close 
by  him,  and  her  white  veil  lightly  touched  Youssouf's 
shoulder.  He  stood  as  if  touched  by  a  magic  wand  and 
fixed  to  the  spot.  He  could  not  follow  his  mistress,  who 
walked  proudly  toward  the  place  where  the  women  awaited 
her.  He  followed  her  with  his  eyes,  however,  and  saw  how 
her  long  flowing  garment  adjusted  itself  to  her  lovely  figure, 
and  how  her  white  veil  fluttered  about  her  noble  head, 
enveloping  it  as  with  a  delicate  white  cloud. 

"  Would  that  I  were  the  wind  that  kisses  your  cheek  ! " 
murmured  he,  lost  in  contemplation  of  his  idol.  "Would 
I  were  the  sand  your  foot  blesses  with  its  touch!  To  die  near 
you,  beholding  you  in  death,  were  heavenly  bliss." 

Sitta  Nefysseh  had  disappeared  behind  the  clump  of  bushes. 
Kachef  Youssouf  still  stood  before  the  kiosk.  He  listened. 
The  music  had  ceased.  He  knew  that  his  mistress  was  return- 
ing with  her  women  to  the  house.  He  hastily  glanced  around 
the  garden,  fastening  his  large,  black  eyes,  on  every  bush,  as 
if  expecting  to  find  an  enemy  concealed  there.  No  one  is  to 


306  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

be  seen.  Only  Heaven  and  the  bees  in  the  air  see  Youssouf 
as  he  rushes  into  the  kiosk,  picks  up  the  rose,  presses  it  pas- 
sionately to  his  lips,  and  then  conceals  it  in  his  bosom. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  COUNCIL  OF  WAR. 

FROM  the  day  of  their  first  meeting,  when  Cousrouf  Pacha 
appointed  Mohammed  Ali  sarechsme,  the  new  general  had 
proved  his  bravery  and  his  shrewdness  in  many  a  skirmish 
and  battle  with  the  Mamelukes.  He  had  already  captured 
from  them  two  strongholds,  and  had  returned  victorious 
from  every  battle  with  them.  Cousrouf  praised  his  fortune  at 
having  such  a  general  at  his  side.  Mohammed  Ali  showed 
himself  so  zealous  and  devoted  in  his  service  that  the  viceroy 
listened  to  his  advice  only,  and  called  him  his  favorite  and 
confidant. 

''Truly,  I  am  a  happy  man,"  said  Cousrouf  to  himself. 
''  I  am  the  ruler  of  a  great  kingdom.  I  have  friends  at  my 
side  in  whom  I  can  confide,  and  who  will  assist  me  in  all  my 
plans,  executing  all  I  determine.  Who  knows  but  that  a  great 
future  still  awaits  me,  and  that  the  crown  which  now  hangs 
suspended  over  my  head  may  not  one  day  adorn  it  in  reality  ? 
Mohammed  shall  aid  me.  He  is  the  bravest  of  the  brave,  and 
the  wisest  of  the  wise." 

He  walked  to  and  fro  in  his  room  as  he  said  this  to  himself, 
his  countenance  radiant  with  smiles. 

"  I  will  soon  have  my  wives  brought  to  me,  and  my 
daughters  also.  Who  knows,  perhaps  it  were  well  to  chain 
the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  to  my  side  with  still  closer 
bonds  ?  Who  knows  ?  Sometimes  a  strange  presentiment 
comes  over  me  when  I  look  at  him.  Mohammed's  eyes  some- 
times glitter  so  strangely  and  angrily,  but  he  is  conscious  of 
it  at  once,  and  then  becomes  more  gentle  and  devoted  than 
ever.  There  are  times  when  I  distrust  him.  It  were  perhaps 
well  to  fasten  him  to  my  side  so  firmly  that  he  cannot  free  him- 


THE   COUNCIL   OF  WAR.  307 

self.  Yes,  I  had  best  give  him  one  of  my  daughters  in  marriage. 
He  must  be  submissive  and  devoted  to  his  father-in-law  at  all 
times,"  said  he,  in  low  tones.  "  Sometimes  I  think  his  smooth 
countenance  conceals  a  gloomy  soul,  and  that  Mohammed  Ali 
has  not  yet  forgotten  the  evil  done  the  young  lad  in  Cavalla. 
But  these  are  mere  fancies.  He  has  proved  on  every  occasion 
that  he  110  longer  thinks  of  it.  I  will  have  him  called  and 
study  his  countenance  while  speaking  with  him." 

He  sent  one  of  his  slaves  to  request  the  sarechsme  to  come 
to  him.  After  a  few  minutes  Mohammed  entered.  He  bo  wed 
profoundly  before  Cousrouf,  and  seemed  delighted  when  in- 
vited to  seat  himself  beside  the  pacha  on  the  divan,  and  smoke 
the  chibouque  with  him. 

"Tell  me,  Mohammed,  how  old  are  you?"  asked  Cous- 
rouf, after  a  pause,  blowing  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  lips, 
and  seeming  to  regard  the  general  with  kindly  composure. 
"  How  old  are  you  ? '' 

"  I  hardly  know,  highness,"  replied  Mohammed,  smiling. 
"  But  let  me  count.  I  believe  I  was  fifteen  when,  at  Cavalla, 
I  first  had  the  happiness  of  meeting  you,  my  distinguished 
master." 

"Let  us  proceed  with  the  calculation,"  said  Cousrouf.  "I 
remained  three  years  in  Cavalla.  By  Allah,  tfyey  seemed  to  me 
to  be  three  centuries !  Yes,  I  remained  there  three  years,  and 
you  were  therefore  eighteen  when  I  left  Cavalla  ? " 

"  Yes,  eighteen  years  old  ;  and  a  wild,  reckless  lad  I  was, 
too  !  Even  now  I  beg  your  forgiveness  for  my  conduct  at 
that  time,"  said  Mohammed,  humbly. 

The  viceroy  bowed  a  gracious  consent. 

"  Since  then  twelve  years  have  passed,  and  you  are  there- 
fore now  thirty." 

"  You  see,  I  am  an  old  man  !  And  when  I  look  back  at 
the  past  it  seems  to  me  I  have  lived  an  eternity.  Yes,  high- 
ness, I  am  an  old  man,  and  can  hardly  say  that  any  wishes  or 
aspirations  now  find  a  place  in  my  bosom." 

"Are  you  alone  in  the  world?"  asked  Cousrouf.  "Have 
you  no  family  ? " 

A  strange  fire  gleamed  for  an  instant  in  Mohammed's  eyes, 
and  he  compressed  his  lips  firmly.  How  could  he  who  had  in- 


308  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

flicted  such  intolerable  anguish  upon  him,  how  could  he 
question  him  as  to  his  heart's  history  ?  Woe  to  him  for  so 
doing  !  for  this,  too.  shall  retribution  be  visited  upon  him  I 

"  Yes,  highness,  I  have  a  family.  I  have  a  wife  and  three 
sons  at  home  in  Ca valla." 

"  One  wife  only  ? "  said  the  pacha.  "  Are  you  contented 
with  one  wife  ? " 

"  One  is  often  too  many,"  replied  Mohammed.  "  But  this 
does  not  apply  to  my  wife.  She  is  the  niece  of  the  tschor- 
badji,  and  devoted  to  me.  I  have  no  cause  to  complain  of 
her." 

"  Is  that  all  ? "  asked  the  pacha,  with  an  air  of  indifference. 
"  You  have  nothing  further  to  say  of  her  ?  Then  you  do  not 
love  her,  I  suppose  ? '' 

"  Highness,  I  believe  love  was  torn  from  my  heart  in  my 
youth." 

"Everyone  says  that  until  he  loves,"  replied  Cousrouf, 
composedly  blowing  clouds  of  smoke  from  his  mouth.  "  Yet, 
in  my  opinion,  one  is  never  too  old  to  love  ;  the  heart  never 
grows  old.  Let  me  know  it  if  you  feel  that  another  love  can 
blossom  in  your  heart,  and  that  you  wish,  in  addition  to  the 
wife  you  have  long  possessed — and  I  know  that  possession  gives 
satiety — another,  a  young  and  beautiful  wife.  Perhaps  I  can 
find  such  a  one  for  you.  And  I  will  do  so,  Mohammed, 
if  you  return  victorious  from  the  new  campaign." 

"  A  new  campaign  ?  and  against  whom  ? "  was  Moham- 
med's only  response. 

"Against  whom  ?  Against  the  insolent  Mameluke  beys,  of 
course.  The  time  has  come  to  dispose  of  them  finally,"  said 
Cousrouf.  "Listen,  general.  The  grand-sultan,  weary  of 
these  incessant  struggles  with  the  rebellious  Mameluke  beys, 
is  resolved  to  bring  them  to  a  conclusion,  and  restore  peace  to 
the  province  of  Egypt.  You,  however,  have  now  been  here 
long  enough  to  know  that  peace  in  Egypt  means  death  and 
destruction  to  the  Mameluke  beys." 

"  Yes,  highness,  peace  in  Egypt  means  death  to  the  Mame- 
luke beys  !"  replied  Mohammed  Ali.  "Truly,  while  one  of 
them  survives,  so  long  will  his  proud,  ambitious  heart  prompt 
him  to  endeavor  to  reconquer  the  rule  which  he  believes  is 


THE   COUNCIL   OF   WAR.  309 

predestined  for  the  Mameluke  beys  by  Allah  and  the 
prophet." 

"  They  shall  learn  that  Allah  has  doomed  them  to  destruc- 
tion 1 "  cried  Cousrouf,  passionately.  "  All  is  arranged.  To  the 
Franks  we  are  indebted  for  one  thing,  and  that  is-  for  having 
fought  these  rebellious  beys.  Since  the  French  expedition  the 
number  of  the  Mamelukes  is  diminished  by  at  least  one-half. 
In  order  to  prevent  them  from  recruiting  their  decimated  ranks, 
the  grand-sultan  has  issued  a  firman  which  prohibits  further 
importation  into  Egypt  of  Circassian  and  Georgian  slaves/' 

"  And  yet,  as  I  have  heard,  they  resort  to  other  sources  to 
refill  their  depleted  ranks,"  said  Mohammed,  respectfully.  "  I 
am  told  that  they  recruit  their  forces  with  the  inhabitants  of 
the  desert,  with  the  children  of  Albania,  and  the  tribe  of  Ach- 
med  Ali." 

"  They  do,  it  is  true.  But  the  Arabs  and  Bedouins  are 
poor  substitutes  for  the  Georgian  and  Circassian  slaves.  You 
cannot  make  lions  of  wild-cats,  nor  tigers  of  jackals.  More- 
over, discord  has  fallen  out  among  the  Mameluke  beys  them- 
selves, since  Mourad  Bey  fell.  He  was  a  great  man  and  a 
hero  !  But  since  his  death  they  have  lacked  a  chieftain  who 
could  unite  them  ;  Tamboudji  Bey  was  such  a  one  for  a  brief 
season,  but,  as  you  know,  he  fell  at  Aboukir.  Three  others 
are  now  quarrelling  over  the  succession.  There  is  Osman  Bey 
Bardissi ;  Ibrahim  Bey,  the  old  Mameluke  chieftain  ;  and 
finally,  L'Elfi  Bey,  a  protege  of  the  English,  as  Bardissi  is  of 
the  French.  These  three  are  now  at  daggers'-ends  as  to  who 
shall  be  the  leader.  We  must,  it  seems  to  me,  draw  advan- 
tage from  this  quarrel.  I  know  Bardissi  and  Ibrahim  have 
again  applied  to  France,  and  have  sent  ambassadors  to  the 
French  general,  Bonaparte,  to  solicit  their  aid  against  their 
own  masters — against  us,  the  Turks.  L'Elfi  Bey,  however,  has 
sought  the  intervention  of  England,  and  begged  for  assistance 
against  us  in  that  quarter.  They  well  know  that  they  are  too 
weak  to  resist  us  alone.  And  therefore,  it  seems  to  me,  we 
should  avail  ourselves  of  this  favorable  moment  when  they 
are  awaiting  foreign  aid.  They  must  be  overwhelmed,  never 
to  rise  again." 

"  How  wise  your  words,  highness  !     Overwhelmed  they 


310  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

must  be  for  all  time,  in  order  that  you  alone  may  rule,  and 
that  the  sultan  at  Stamboul  may  look  with  admiration  upon 
him  who  has  restored  to  the  old  rulers  of  Egypt  the  power  of 
former  days.  This  great  work  is  reserved  for  you,  Cousrouf 
Pacha,  and  your  most  obedient  and  devoted  servant,  Moham- 
med Ali,  will  consider  himself  highly  honored,  if  permitted  to 
aid  you  in  this  great  cause. " 

"  I  count  on  you,"  replied  the  pacha,  inclining  his  head 
graciously.  "  I  know  your  devotion  and  zeal  in  my  service, 
and  therefore  do  I  advise  with  you  in  all  my  plans,  and  speak 
to  you  as  to  my  other  self.  To  proceed  :  The  Mameluke  beys 
who  applied  to  England  and  France  also  addressed  a  letter  to 
me  at  the  same  time.  In  this  letter  they  request  me  to  con- 
clude with  them  an  armistice  of  five  months'  duration,  in 
order  that  they  may  address  themselves  to  the  sultan  at  Con- 
stantinople, to  settle,  with  the  assistance  of  the  English  and 
French  ambassadors  there,  the  terms  of  a  final  treaty  of  peace. 
What  do  you  think  our  answer  to  the  demand  of  these  Mame- 
luke beys  should  be,  Mohammed  ?  Shall  we  consent  to  this 
armistice  ?  Give  me  your  views  without  reserve.  What  is 
your  opinion  ? " 

"  I  think,  highness,  that  it  would  be  folly  to  grant  this 
armistice.  The  Mamelukes  would  avail  themselves  of  this  in- 
terval to  recruit  their  ranks,  and  would  secretly  import  slaves. 
They  are  cunning,  and  many  resources  are  open  to  them. 
They  would  make  warriors  of  these  slaves  in  five  months, 
and  they  would  then  be  the  first  to  recommence  the  war  ! " 

Cousrouf  remained  silent  for  a  time.  "  You  are  a  good 
general  in  the  field,  and  a  good  adviser  in  the  cabinet.  I  re- 
joice in  your  possession  ! "  said  he,  with  his  most  gracious 
manner.  "  Just  as  you  think  and  say,  have  I  determined,  and 
I  have  informed  these  insolent  beys  that  I  will  not  grant  them 
a  respite  of  five  months,  nor  of  five  weeks  ;  no,  not  of  five 
days.  I,  moreover,  informed  them  that  if  they  so  ardently 
desired  to  have  peace,  and  to  enjoy  peace,  they  should  submit, 
and  come  to  Cairo,  and  live  here  as  Osman  Bey  Hassan  does, 
who  has  hitherto  also  been  a  Mameluke  chieftain.  Further, 
I  told  them  that  I  was  ready  to  treat  with  them,  and,  in  order 
to  be  rid  of  this  continuous  plundering  and  robbing,  I  offered 


THE   COUNCIL   OF  WAR. 

to  assign  them  the  province  of  Esneh,  in  Upper  Egypt,  where 
they  might  indulge  their  propensities  to  their  hearts'  content. 
They,  however,  in  their  insolence,  demanded  that  I  should 
give  them  the  whole  province  of  Girgeh  in  addition.  This  I 
refused.  And  now,  I  think,  we  have  had  attempts  enough  at 
peace-making.  I  will  draw  the  sword  again,  and  my  armies, 
suall  take  the  field  against  these  insolent  rebels.  Youssouf 
Bey,  my  lieutenant,  leads  the  first  column,  and  the  second,  my 
Mohammed  Ali,  the  second  you  will  lead  !  " 

"  I  thank  you,  highness,  and  I  promise  to  lead  my  soldiers 
to  hattle  and  victory,  or  to  be  brought  back  with  the  dead  !  " 

'•  You  will  lead  them  to  victory,  and  return  a  victor.  My 
general,  Taher  Pacha,  will  unite  his  forces  with  yours  and 
Youssouf  Bey's.  Taher  Pacha  is  already  on  the  march  from 
Upper  Egypt.  And  now,  tell  me,  do  you  think  our  forces 
are  strong  enough  to  chastise  and  overthrow  the  Mameluke 
beys  ? " 

"  In  order  to  reply.  I  must  first  know  the  strength  of  all 
your  forces  combined."  He  spoke  with  downcast  eyes,  appar- 
ently all  devotion,  and  only  intent  on  his  master's  advantage. 
Cousrouf  Pacha  was  far  from  suspecting  with  what  feverish 
suspense  the  sarechsme  awaited  his  reply. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  and  you  alone,  Mohammed  Ali,"  replied  he, 
in  subdued  tones.  ''  We  have  only  sixteen  or  seventeen  thous- 
and soldiers,  and  it  will  be  difficult  to  concentrate  them  at  one 
point,  as  they  are  scattered  throughout  Middle  and  Upper 
Egypt.  The  nucleus  of  this  army  that  is  to  be  formed  consists 
of  the  four  thousand  Albanians  sent  me  by  the  capitan  pacha, 
and  these  Albanians  count  double.  They  are  strong  and 
brave.  To  be  sure  they  are  also  a  little  too  wild  and  head- 
strong ;  and,  in  addition,  they  are  not  Turks." 

"  O  highness,"  said  Mohammed,  with  a  sigh,  "  if  that  is  a 
fault,  I  must  express  my  profound  regret,  as  I  unfortunately 
am  not  a  Turk  myself." 

"  And  yet  I  confide  in  you,"  said  Cousrouf,  "  as  I  know 
you  are  repairing  the  misfortune  of  your  birth  by  your  deeds. 
But  I  would  never  place  the  same  reliance  in  the  old  troops  of 
Albania  ;  and,  therefore,  I  have  formed  a  corps  of  Nubians, 
and  selected  a  body-guard  from  the  number  of  these  black 


312  MOHAMMED  ALI   AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

slaves,  and  upon  them  I  can  and  do  rely.  They  have  become 
good  soldiers  ;  I  have  taken  a  number  of  French  soldiers  into 
my  service,  and  they  have  drilled  my  body-guard  -well.  Yes, 
upon  them  I  can  rely.  If  traitors  should  come  near  me,  they 
would  slay  them." 

"  How  could  traitors  come  near  your  highness  ? "  said  Mo- 
hammed, with  an  air  of  dismay.  u  Who  could  dare  to  threaten 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  the  kind  and  noble  ruler,  with  treason  !  No. 
You  can  sleep  in  peace.  Treason  must  stand  aloof  from  your 
great  and  sacred  person/' 

The  pacha  shook  his  head.  "  The  viceroy  will  not  sleep  in 
peace,  Mohammed,  until  you  can  announce  to  him  that  the 
last  Mameluke  bey  lies  dead  at  your  feet." 

"  I  trust,  highness,  that  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  make  this 
announcement,"  said  Mohammed,  in  kindly  tones.  "  My  most 
ardent  desire  is  to  march  out  to  battle,  and  prove  to  my 
kind  master  that  I  am  not  only  a  good  soldier,  but  also  a  true 
and  devoted  servant." 

"  Then  march  out  to  battle,  Mohammed,  and  be  mindful  of 
what  I  before  said.  Cousrouf  will,  perhaps,  be  able  to  reward 
the  victorious  Mohammed  with  a  beautiful  young  wife,  with 
a  rich  dowry.  Go  !  Be  mindful  of  this,  and  hold  your  troops 
in  readiness  to  march.  Taher  Pacha  will  already  have  re- 
ceived my  orders  to  join  you  ;  and  Youssouf  Bey,  my  lieu- 
tenant, is  also  ready  to  take  the  field.  You  will  follow  him 
rapidly,  and,  united,  you  will  give  battle  to  the  Mame- 
lukes." He  then  dismissed  Mohammed  with  a  gracious  saluta- 
tion. 

As  the  latter  passes  out  through  the  antechamber,  his  head 
humbly  bowed  down,  he  whispers  to  himself:  ''The  black 
body-guard  would  slay  those  who  should  threaten  your  life  ! 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  I  am  glad  you  rely  on  your  black  body- 
guard ! " 


THE   ABDUCTION.  313 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    ABDUCTION. 

OSMAN  BEY  BARDISSI  was  encamped  on  the  plain  of  Da- 
manhour  with  his  Mamelukes,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  L'Elfi 
Bey  and  his  forces.  Spies  and  scouts  had  announced  that  the 
Turkish  army  was  advancing  from  Cairo  in  two  columns, 
and  that  Taher  Pacha  was  approaching  from  another  direc- 
tion— from  Upper  Egypt — at  the  head  of  seven  thousand 
men. 

Bardissi's  countenance  lighted  up  with  joy  when  the 
Bedouin  sheik  Arnhyn  brought  this  intelligence. 

"  The  decisive  moment,  the  day  of  battle  is  at  hand.  If  we 
are  victors,  how  Sitta  Nefysseh  will  smile  on  us,  how  happy 
she  will  be  ! " 

Yes,  the  decisive  moment  is  at  hand.  Perhaps  Nefysseh's 
cold  heart  will  be  touched,  perhaps  she  will  bestow  upon  the 
victor  a  glorious  reward — herself. 

But  why  does  not  L'Elfi  come  ?  Without  him  Bardissi  can- 
not, he  well  knows,  venture  to  give  battle,  for  he,  with  his 
men  and  the  Mamelukes  of  Elmar  Bey,  is  too  weak  to  engage 
an  enemy  of  such  superior  strength. 

"  To  be  sure,  the  Turks  are  cowards,"  said  Osman  to  him- 
self ;  ''  and  against  the  Turks  every  Mameluke  counts  for  two. 
Yet,  as  the  scouts  announce,  their  forces  are  too  strong  for  us. 
Youssouf  Bey  comes  first  at  the  head  of  three  thousand  Turks, 
and  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  follows  him  with  five 
thousand  men.  In  addition  to  these,  Taher  Pacha  is  also 
advancing  with  his  forces  ;  if  they  all  unite,  it  is  impossi- 
ble that  we  should  be  victorious,  and  yet  we  must  be  victori- 
ous." 

At  last,  intelligence  is  brought  that  L'Elfi  Bey  is  advancing. 
He,  however,  brings  but  few  of  his  warriors  with  him,  and  his 
countenance  is  sad  and  gloomy. 

The  beys,  Osman  at  their  head,  gather  around  him,  and  im- 
part to  him  the  intelligence  brought  by  the  scouts  with  re- 
gard to  the  strength  of  the  enemy. 
21 


314  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  We  should  therefore  advance  against  him  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, and  vanquish  one  of  his  corps  after  the  other  before  they 
have  time  to  unite." 

L'Elfi  Bey  shook  his  head.  "  We  must  wait,  friends  and 
companions  in  arms,"  said  he.  "  I  think  it  would  be  rash  and 
unwise  to  meet  the  enemy,  when  his  army  is  twice  as  strong 
as  ours,  and  I  came  here  to  tell  you  this." 

"Then,  by  Allah,  it  would  have  been  better  had  you  not 
come  ! "  cried  Bardissi,  angrily.  "  Shall  the  Turks  say  of 
us  that  we,  the  brave  and  haughty  Mamelukes,  have  fled  at 
their  approach  ?  " 

''  Let  them  say  what  they  please,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,"  re- 
sponded L'Elfi  Bey,  throwing  his  head  back  proudly.  u  What 
care  we  ?  We  do  not  flee,  we  only  retreat.  And  our  friends 
advise  us  to  do  this." 

"  Who  are  these  friends  ? "  asked  Bardissi,  angrily. 

u  The  English,  none  of  whom,  as  you  know,  have  ever  de- 
ceived us.  They  have  informed  me  that  the  Turks  are  advanc- 
ing in  three  columns,  and  have  advised  me  not  to  attack  them. 
They  say  it  would  be  a  great  risk,  and  such  a  risk  would  not 
be  advisable  without  a  better  prospect  of  success.  But  we 
could  not  hope  for  success,  for,  as  you  know  yourselves,  we 
are  in  want  of  arms  and  ammunition.  If  vanquished,  we 
should  also  be  massacred,  and  they  would  finish  here  at  Da- 
manhour  the  work  they  began  at  Aboukir.  Can  you  desire 
that,  ye  beys  ? " 

"  We  desire  to  conquer,  and  not  to  flee  like  cowards  ! "  re- 
plied Bardissi,  haughtily. 

"The  unwise  general  attacks  incautiously,  and  when  de- 
feated is  laughed  at  for  his  pains,"  replied  L'Elfi.  "  The  wise 
general  yields  to  necessity,  and  awaits  his  opportunity." 

"  Then  you  can  wait.  L'Elfi  ! "  cried  Bardissi. 

"  I  will  wait,  and  have  resolved  to  do  so."  said  L'Elfi, 
gravely.  "  I  came  to  warn  you,  and  not  to  take  part  in  this 
ridiculous  expedition.  But  observe,  Bardissi,  I  do  not  flee — I 
retreat.  Woe  to  you  if  you  do  not  follow  my  example  ;  woe 
to  you  all  if  you  let  rashness  instead  of  prudence  prevail,  and 
attack  the  Turks  now  !  I  repeat  it,  strong  columns  are  ad- 
vancing !  First,  Youssouf  Bey  ;  then  the  shrewd  sarechsme — 


THE  ABDUCTIOX.  315 

you  know,  Bardissi,  who  told  us  to  beware  of  him — the  shrewd 
sarechsme,  Mohammed  All ;  and,  finally,  Taher  Pacha,  and 
woe  to  you  if  you  venture  to  attack  them  !  " 

"  Woe  to  him  who  sees  and  understands  his  enemy,  and  yet 
dare  not  attack  him  !  "  cried  Bardissi. 

L'Elfi  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  He  beckoned  to  the  Mame- 
lukes who  had  come  with  him,  greeted  his  friends  with  a  proud 
inclination  of  the  head,  and  galloped  away. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  camp  a  small  body  of  English 
horsemen  awaited  L'Elfi  and  his  Mamelukes.  With  them  the 
Mameluke  chieftain  rode  off,  riding  day  and  night  until  they 
reached  Tantah  ;  there  fresh  horses  awaited  them,  and  thence 
they  continued  their  journey  until  they  reached  Alexandria. 
Here  L'Elfi  Bey  embarked  with  the  Englishmen.  For  the  sec- 
ond time  he  left  Egypt.  He  wished  to  forget  in  a  foreign  land 
that  Mourad's  widow,  the  beautiful  Sitta  Nefysseh,  had  reject- 
ed him  and  his  love.  It  was  no  consolation  to  him  that  Bar- 
dissi had  suffered  the  same  fate.  Unrequited  love  causes  bit- 
ter anguish.  L'Elfi  thought  only  of  his  heart's  misery,  and 
cared  nothing  for  war  and  military  renown.  He  will  return 
home  when  his  heart's  anguish  is  stilled.  Then  L'Elfi  Bey 
will  draw  his  sword  again  to  fight  for  victory  and  renown. 
Bardissi  felt  differently.  If  the  former  felt  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  go  into  solitude  to  heal  his  heart's  wounds,  the  latter 
preferred  to  seek  distraction  in  inflicting  wounds  on  his  ene- 
mies. "  For  every  sigh  that  passes  his  lips  he  will  make 
a  Turk  exhale  his  life's  breath,"  so  thinks  Bardissi  the 
brav^. 

Immediately  after  L'Elfi's  departure,  Bardissi  called  the 
kachefs  of  his  Mamelukes,  and  those  of  Ibrahim  Bey  and  Has- 
san Aga  together,  to  hold  a  grand  council  of  war  on  the  plain 
of  Damanhour. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  cautious  like  L'Elfi  ?  shall  we  retreat 
from  the  approaching  enemy  ?  "  cries  Osman  Bey,  the  crown 
of  bravery.  "  Speak,  ye  kachefs  !  We  ask  your  advice,  for 
not  we  alone,  but  you  also,  rush  into  danger.  Our  blood  and 
yours  is  to  be  shed  alike.  Therefore,  let  us  take  counsel  to- 
gether. The  enemy  is  very  strong,  as  you  know.  He  is  ap- 
proaching in  three  columns.  I  pray  you  to  consider  and  de- 


316  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

termine  quickly,  as  the  danger  increases  with  each  minute. 
If  the  three  columns  unite,  the  danger  is  multiplied  ;  there- 
fore, every  thing  depends  on  quick  and  resolute  action.  Yous- 
souf  Bey,  Sheik  Arnhyn  informs  us,  is  only  two  days'  march 
distant — Mohammed  Ali,  three.  It  seems  to  me,  our  plan 
should  be  to  march  against  Youssouf,  and  vanquish  him  be- 
fore Mohammed  Ali  can  join  him  ;  we  will  then  attack  Mo- 
hammed Ali.  Having  vanquished  both  of  them,  I  hardly 
think  Taher  Pacha  will  have  any  desire  to  sustain  the  third  de- 
feat. We  will  then  turn  our  attention  to  Cairo,  now  stripped 
of  soldiers." 

Thekachefs,  who  had  listened  to  Bardissi's  words  with 
sparkling  eyes,  spoke  as  one  man  : 

"  We  will  not  retreat  from  the  enemy  like  L'Elfi  !  Lead 
us  against  him  !  We  will  vanquish  him  !  We  are  strong 
and  courageous  I  Our  steeds  will  bear  us  upon  them  with  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  and  our  swords,  aided  by  those  of  the  in- 
visible hosts,  will  prove  invincible.  The  time  has  at  last 
come  to  let  these  Turks  feel  that  we  are  heroes,  and  not  cow- 
ards. Lead  us  against  the  enemy  ! " 

"•  Then  retire  to  rest  early,"  cried  Bardissi,  his  countenance 
radiant  with  joy.  "  Unsaddle  your  horses  and  let  them  rest, 
too.  To-morrow  at  the  break  of  day  we  mount,  and  fly  with 
the  wings  of  the  wind  to  meet  the  enemy.  Allah  and  his  holy 
hosts  are  with  us." 

"  Allah  and  his  holy  hosts  are  with  us  !  "  is  the  joyous  cry 
repeated  by  the  kacbefs.  Soon  all  is  still  in  the  camp  of  Da- 
manhour.  Men  and  horses  are  at  rest. 

Bey  Bardissi  alone  has  not  yet  retired.  He  calls  the  Bed- 
ouin sheik,  Arnhyn,  to  his  side.  "  You  are  brave  and  daring. 
I  have  work  for  you,  for  which  you  shall  be  richly  rewarded. 
If  we  are  victorious,  you  shall  collect  all  the  spoils  you  may 
desire  from  the  field  of  battle,  and  no  one  shall  hinder  you. 
The  steeds  and  saddles,  and  the  arms  and  equipments  of  all  the 
captured  Turks,  shall  be  yours.  As  you  know,  three  other 
sheiks  have  already  applied  to  me,  and  offered  to  assist  with 
their  camels  and  horses.  You  shall,  however,  have  the  spoils 
of  the  battle-field  if  you  will  perform  the  service  I  require  of 
you." 


THE  ABDUCTION.  317 

"  Give  me  your  commands,  master,"  said  the  Bedouin  sheik, 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  delight.  "  If  you  do  not  require  me 
to  pluck  the  sun  from  heaven,  or  to  lay  the  moon  and  stars 
at  your  feet,  Sheik  Arnhyn  will  execute  your  commands  for 
so  rich  a  reward.  Ah  !  how  delighted  my  daughter  Butheita 
will  he  when  I  bring  her  the  beautiful  horses,  and  glittering 
swords  and  daggers  !  The  child  loves  such  things.  She  is 
not  like  other  women,  she  is  more  like  a  man.  How  Butheita 
will  rejoice  over  the  arms  ! " 

"  Then  make  her  rejoice,  Arnhyn.  And  now  hear  how 
you  can  do  so.  You  informed  me  that  Youssouf  and  his 
forces  were  in  advance  of  the  others,  and  that  Mohammed  Ali 
followed  him  ? " 

"  Thus  it  is  ;  a  day's  march  in  advance.  But  Mohammed 
Ali,  so  everybody  says,  is  a  daring  and  untiring'soldier.  Who 
knows  but  he  may  march  at  night,  too,  and  unite  with  Yous- 
souf ? " 

"  You  are  right,  Arnhyn,"  replied  Bardissi,  "  and  it  is  this 
that  I  wish  to  prevent.  I  wish,  if  possible,  to  avoid  encounter- 
ing Mohammed  Ali.  It  is  of  this  that  I  desire  to  speak  with 
you.  Come,  let  us  withdraw  a  little  farther  from  the  tents 
and  discuss  this  matter." 

All  is  silent.  The  Mamelukes  and  kachefs  lie  sleeping  be- 
side their  horses.  No  one  hears  what  passes  between  the 
Mameluke  bey,  Osman  Bardissi,  and  the  Bedouin  sheik, 
Arnhyn. 

They  speak  in  whispers  ;  no  one  sees  Arnhyn  display  his 
white  teeth  in  his  delight,  nor  sees  the  glad  smile  that  sud- 
denly lights  up  his  countenance. 

"  A  splendid  scheme,  master.  By  Allah  !  I  would  do  it 
though  you  had  not  promised  so  rich  a  reward.  I  give 
you  my  word  it  shall  be  done  as  you  direct.  We  will  make 
Sarechsme  Mohammed  Ali  harmless." 

"  You  will  start  out  at  once  ?"  said  Bardissi. 

"Immediately,  master,  for  I  must  soon  return,"  replied 
Arnhyn.  "By  sunrise  you  will  come  up  with  Youssouf, 
and  I  must  be  there  with  my  ravens  to  gather  the  spoils. 
I  will  now  fly  to  my  tent  ;  there  near  the  Pyramids  I  shall 
meet  my  daughter  Butheita,  and  she  will  arrange  the  rest. 


318  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

You  will  find  me  at  your  tent  by  morning.  If  I  am  not 
there,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  you  will  know  that  the  Bed- 
ouin sheik,  Arnhyn,  is  no  longer  among  the  living,  and 
that  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  has  been  too  shrewd  for 
him." 


BOOK  IV. 
THE    VICEROY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

BUTHEITA. 

ON  the  green  fields  of  Gheezeh,  near  the  verge  of  the  yel- 
low desert,  lies  Mohammed  All  encamped  with  his  forces. 
Five  thousand  brave  soldiers,  among  them  the  Albanian  corps, 
the  best  troops  of  the  Turkish  army,  are  under  the  command 
of  the  young  sarechsme.  In  advance  of  him,  Youssouf  Bey  is 
marching  upon  the  Mamelukes  with  a  corps  of  almost  equal 
strength.  According  to  the  viceroy's  instructions,  Moham- 
med Ali  is  to  wait  and  see  if  Youssouf  Bey  does  not  prove 
strong  enough  to  vanquish  the  Mamelukes  unaided ;  if  this 
should  prove  to  be  the  case,  it  would  not  be  advisable  to  lead 
a  splendid  army  corps  into  battle  unnecessarily. 

Mohammed  Ali,  however,  well  understood  the  secret  mean- 
ing of  the  vicei'oy's  instructions.  Youssouf  Bey  is  his  lieuten- 
ant, his  favorite,  and  his  master  is  desirous  that  he  alone 
shall  reap  the  golden  fruit  of  victory.  If  he  is  defeated, 
Mohammed  is  to  march  to  Youssouf  s  assistance  with  all  pos- 
sible speed.  The  latter  is  a  day's  march  in  advance,  and  when 
his  messengers  reach  Mohammed  it  will  already  be  too  late  ; 
the  battle  will  have  been  lost  and  a  new  one  will  have  to  be 
fought  with  the  elated  victors.  All  this  passes  through 
Mohammed's  mind  as  he  sits  there  in  the  silence  and  solitude 
of  the  night.  All  are  sleeping.  The  warriors  lie  scattered 
over  the  wide  plain  beside  their  horses,  their  hands  on  their 
swords.  No  tents  have  been  pitched  :  what  need  of  them,  the 
night  is  warm,  and  on  the  morrow  they  are  to  be  on  the 
march  again  toward  Damanhour  ? 

(319) 


320  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

For  the  sarechsme  alone  a  tent  had  been  pitched,  which 
could  he  seen  from  far  out  on  the  desert  on  whose  verge  it 
stood.  Any  one  bringing  him  a  message  would  have  found 
the  white  tent,  surmounted  by  a  dark-red  flag,  without  any 
difficulty.  As  was  customary,  two  sentinels  stood  in  front  of 
the  general's  tent.  When  all  had  gone  to  rest,  Mohammed 
stepped  out  of  his  tent,  and  told  the  sentinels  to  lie  down  and 
go  to  sleep.  What  need  of  guards  here  in  the  midst  of  his  faith- 
ful warriors  ?  Let  them  all  rest,  for  the  morrow  may  be  a  day 
of  great  toil  and  fatigue.  The  sentinels  thanked  the  sarechs- 
me,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep,  their  muskets  at  their 
side. 

Mohammed  returned  to  his  tent,  lay  down  on  his  mat,  and, 
supporting  his  head  on  his  hand  was  soon  absorbed  in  thought. 
He  lay  there  gazing  out  into  the  night,  considering  the  vice- 
roy's plans,  and  also  considering  whether  it  would  be  advis- 
able to  obey  his  instructions. 

Youssouf  Bey  is  to  have  all  the  glory  of  victory,  but 
Mohammed  is  to  share  defeat  with  him.  If  Youssouf  Bey  is 
victorious,  Mohammed  must  return  to  Cairo  with  his  troops, 
and  the  former  will  have  reaped  all  the  honors  of  the  cam- 
paign. But  if  Youssouf  Bey  is  defeated,  Mohammed  will  have 
to  march  to  his  assistance  with  all  possible  speed,  and  will, 
nevertheless,  arrive  too  late,  when  the  battle  is  already  lost. 
Then  a  new  battle  will  have  to  be  fought,  and  the  Mamelukes, 
elated  with  their  success,  will  hurl  themselves  upon  his  forces, 
and  probably  rout  them.  Victory  would  then  be  merely 
possible  at  best,  and  shall  he  rely  on  this  possibility  ?  It  is  to 
be  his  first  great  battle,  and  dare  he  allow  it  to  be  a  defeat  ? 

But  what  can  he  do  ? 

He  considers  this,  and  his  present  relations  with  the  vice- 
roy. Has  the  time  come  when  he  can  lay  hands  to  his  task 
with  ruder  touch  ;  will  it  do  to  substitute  stern  words  for  soft 
flattery  ?  He  will  not  be  able  to  decide  until  after  this  battle 
— that  is,  if  he  is  to  take  part  in  it  at  all. 

While  he  lies  there  absorbed  in  thought,  all  has  become 
still  without.  The  men  are  asleep  ;  no  one  moves,  no  eye  is 
open.  No  one  sees  a  dark  shadow  flitting  across  the  desert 
toward  the  tents.  Now  it  halts  near  that  of  the  sarechsme. 


BUTIIEITA. 


321 


A  smaller  shadow  separates  from  the  larger  one  ;  it  stoops  low 
and  glides  along  slowly  and  cautiously. 

All  are  wrapped  in  slumber.  The  shadow  stops  before  the 
tent ;  and  now  something  glitters,  like  two  sparkling  stars 
fallen  from  heaven. 

Perhaps  they  are  the  eyes  of  some  savage  beast  prowling 
near  the  camp  in  search  of  prey. 

No  one  sees  these  eyes.  They  are  not  the  eyes  of  an  ani- 
mal, but  of  a  human  being  who  now  stands  upright  in  front 
of  Mohammed's  tent. 

Sleep  has  waved  its  black  pinions  over  Mohammed,  as  he 
lies  there  lost  in  thought ;  his  senses  have  becqme  gradually 
confused,  and  he,  too,  now  sleeps,  dreaming  of  the  viceroy,  of 
the  morrow,  and  of  the  Mameluke  bey  Bardissi,  whom  he 
would  so  gladly  call  his  friend. 

For  a  moment  he  opens  his  eyes  ;  it  seems  to  him  that  he 
hears  a  noise,  a  slight  rustling  against  the  canvas  of  the  tent. 
Yet  he  sees  nothing,  and  all  is  still.  It  is  only  a  dream.  He 
closes  his  eyes,  the  angel  of  sleep  fans  his  brow,  and  his  head 
sinks  back  upon  the  mat  again. 

It  would  have  been  well  had  the  sentinels  stood  guard. 
They  would  not  have  allowed  this  black  figure  to  spring  into 
the  tent  with  the  bound  of  a  tiger,  and  then  glide  like  the 
noiseless  serpent  to  the  mat  where  Mohammed  slept.  They 
could  have  prevented  this  spectre  from  so  quickly  and  noise- 
lessly binding  his  feet  and  hands  with  thin  ropes  that  he  did 
not  awake,  and  then  suddenly  and  rapidly  enveloping  his  head 
with  a  thick  cloth,  and  adroitly  tying  it  in  a  knot. 

The  sarechsme,  now  aroused,  raises  his  head  to  hear  the 
words  :  "  Fear  not,  your  life  will  be  spared  ! "  murmured  in 
his  ear. 

And,  while  these  words  are  being  whispered,  he  feels  the 
cloth  about  his  head,  and  that  he  can  utter  no  cry  or  word  ; 
he  also  becomes  aware  that  his  hands  and  feet  are  securely 
bound. 

"  And  to  this  I  have  come  ! "  thinks  he.  "  Thus  am  I  to 
die,  an  object  of  ridicule  to  the  world  and  to  myself  ! " 

And,  strange  to  say,  his  thoughts  suddenly  revert  to  the 
past.  Thus  bound  and  gagged,  had  he  once  lain  in  another 


322  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

place.  And  he  who  perpetrated  the  horrible  outrage,  lives  in 
splendor,  and  Mohammed  has  lived  in  vain,  and  must  die  un- 
avenged !  It  is  again  Cousrouf  Pacha  who  causes  him  to  be 
bound  and  borne  out.  "  Whither  ?  whither  ?  I  ask  !  Do  I 
not  already  know  ?  Out  to  the  Nile  that  glittered  in  the  sun- 
light before  me  a  few  hours  since.  Oh,  had  I  but  known  that 
it  was  to  be  my  grave,  and  that  Cousrouf  had  read  and  under- 
stood my  thoughts  !  He  felt  that  it  was  he  or  I,  that  one  must 
go  down  ;  and  now  he  stands  secure  on  the  heights,  and  I 
must  sink  down,  down  ! " 

Such  are  the  thoughts  that  harrow  his  soul  as  he  is  lifted 
up  by  two  strong  arms  and  borne  out  into  the  night.  He 
feels  the  quick  breathing  of  him  in  whose  arms  he  is 
borne  ;  he  is  no  light  burden  even  for  Sheik  Arnhyn's  strong 
arms. 

"  How  heavy  you  are,  sarechsme  ! "  murmurs  he,  smiling. 
"  How  light  the  viceroy's  army  will  be,  when  the  heavy  and 
distinguished  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  is  wanting  ! " 

All  is  still  about  them.  Mohammed  vainly  endeavors  to 
cry  out,  to  release  his  hands  ;  he  is  securely  bound,  and  his 
lips  can  utter  no  word. 

They  stop  at  last,  and  Arnhyn  speaks,  but  in  such  low 
tones  that  Mohammed  can  understand  nothing.  He  only 
hears  another  voice  replying.  Then  he  is  lifted  high  and  de- 
posited on  a  soft  cushion. 

"Now,  Butheita,"  murmured  the  voice  of  him  who  had 
borne,  him  from  the  tent,  "  ride  on  to  the  tent  with  him,  and 
keep  him  securely  until  our  master,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi, 
comes  to  speak  with  him  !  Guard  him  well,  for  you  must 
know,  my  daughter,  that,  dearly  as  your  father  loves  you, 
Butheita  must  die  if  he  escapes.  This,  I  swear,  by  Allah,  so 
be  on  your  guard,  my  daughter  ! " 

"  You  can  rely  on  me,  Father  Arnhyn,"  replied  the  soft 
voice  of  a  woman.  "  I  shall  guard  him  as  though  he  were 
my  dearest  treasure  on  earth  ;  he  shall  not  escape  Butheita." 

"  Then  farewell,  my  child  !  I  must  now  hasten  back,  for 
to-morrow  will  be  a  day  of  battle.  But  I  hope  to  bring  you 
rich  spoils  in  two  days,  and  Osman  Bey  has  promised  to  re- 
ward me  well  for  my  work.  Hold  him  fast,  Butheita  ;  he  is 


BUTHEITA.  323 

bound  and  gagged,  and  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him. 
Allah  be  with  you,  my  child  ! " 

And  now  they  ride  swiftly  through  the  night.  Whither  ? 
He  knows  not.  He  lies  bound  on  a  cushion,  and  only  feels, 
by  the  movement  of  the  animal,  and  by  the  shaking  and  jolt- 
ing his  body  undergoes,  that  he  is  on  the  back  of  a  dromedary. 
Sometimes,  when,  as  it  seems  to  him,  he  is  on  the  point  of 
being  hurled  from  his  high  seat,  he  feels  himself  grasped  and 
placed  in  an  easier  position  on  his  cushion  by  two  arms,  and 
then  on  they  move  again  at  a  swift  trot.  He  feels  that  they 
are  riding  through  the  desert.  The  camel's  feet  sink  deep 
into  the  sand,  and  then,  when  the  ground  beneath  becomes 
firm,  their  speed  is  increased,  and  lessened  when  it  again  sinks 
into  the  sand.  To  Mohammed  the  ride  seems  to  have  lasted 
an  eternity  already.  However,  a  few  hours  only  have  passed, 
when  the  dromedary  halts,  and  a  sweet  voice  whispers : 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you ;  it  is  horrible  to  be  borne  on  through 
the  night  this  way,  bound  and  gagged,  your  face  covered.  I 
should  like  to  relieve  you  by  removing  the  cloth.  But  if  you 
are  cruel,  you  might  tear  my  arm  with  your  teeth." 

Mohammed  shakes  his  head  slightly,  and  she  feels  the 
movement  in  her  arm  that  encircles  his  head. 

"  You  shake  your  head  and  promise  not  to  do  so,  stranger, 
and  I  will  trust  you.  I  will  free  your  head  and  lips,  but  I 
must  first  bind  you  to  the  saddle,  to  make  sure  of  you."  She 
unwinds  the  shawl  from  her  delicate  waist,  slips  it  around  his 
body,  and  binds  him  securely  to  the  palanquin ;  she  then  un- 
ties the  knot  binding  the  cloth  that  envelops  his  head  and 
passes  over  his  mouth.  The  cloth  falls  down  and  Mohammed 
breathes  freer  and  looks  up.  It  is  a  clear,  starry  night,  and 
Butheita's  eyes  are  accustomed  to  darkness,  and  see  as  well  at 
night  as  in  the  daytime.  She  gazes  down  upon  his  counte- 
nance, and  a  sunny  smile  illumines  her  features.  He  sees  her 
not ;  his  eyes  are  still  blinded ;  neither  can  he  speak  yet,  he 
can  only  breathe  more  freely,  and  he  eagerly  inhales  the  fresh 
night  air. 

"  Handsome  is  the  stranger,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  won- 
drous sweetness.  "  Already  a  sarechsme,  and  still  so  young ! 
I  supposed  my  father  had  brought  me  an  old  gray-beard,  and 


324  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

it  had  distressed  me  to  torment  you  so,  and  now  I  see  a  strong 
young  hero,  and  I  feel  doubly  distressed  at  your  being  the 
prisoner  of  a  poor  girl." 

tHe  looks  up,  and  now  he  sees  the  fair  face  with  its  starlike 
eyes  sparkling  down  upon  him.  The  night  is  clear,  and  the 
yellow  sand  whirled  aloft  by  the  camel's  feet  imparts  a  golden 
lustre  to  the  atmosphere ;  the  appearance  of  the  horizon  also 
announces  that  the  rosy  dawn  is  about  to  contend  with  the 
starry  night.  Mohammed  sees  the  lovely  countenance  with 
its  brown  tint,  and  its  large  black  eyes  and  crimson  lips,  dis- 
closing, as  they  now  smile,  her  pearly  teeth. 

"  Pity  me  not,  Butheita,"  murmured  he.  "  To  be  the  pris- 
oner of  a  man  would  put  the  sarechsme  to  shame ;  but  to  be 
the  prisoner  of  a  houri  of  paradise,  who  holds  him  in  sweet 
captivity,  is,  it  seems  to  me,  an  enviable  lot." 

"You  speak  prettily,  O  stranger,"  said  she,  her  countenance 
beaming  with  delight.  ''Your  words  come  like  music  from 
your  lips ;  such  sweet  words  I  never  heard  before.  You  speak 
as  the  scha-er  sings,  whom  I  once  heard  when  with  my  father 
in  Tantah.  Oh,  speak  on,  sing  on,  for  songs  resound  from 
your  lips ! " 

"If  my  words  are  songs,  yours  are  tones  of  the  harp," 
murmured  he.  "  Oh,  tell  me,  Butheita,  where  are  we  going  ? 
Who  has  commanded  you  to  bear  me  away  thus  ? " 

"  Did  you  not  hear  ?  I  obey  the  commands  of  my  father, 
who  is  in  Osman  Bey's  service.  I  do  not  know  what  they 
want  of  you,  yet  I  believe  they  fear  you,  and  wish  to  keep  you 
from  taking  part  in  the  great  battle  to-morrow.  Yes,  I  know 
they  fear  you,  for  you  are  a  hero.  Now,  I  know  how  a  hero 
must  look,  for  you  are  a  hero,  and  your  eyes  are  as  mighty  as 
a  host  of  armed  warriors.  Oh,  now  I  understand  why  Osman 
Bey  fears  you,  and  why  he  offered  my  father  so  rich  a  reward 
to  keep  you  from  taking  part  in  to-morrow's  battle." 

"  That  is  it,  that  is  then  the  reason  I  am  led  away  cap- 
tive," cried  Mohammed,  not  in  threatening  or  lamenting 
tones,  but  joyously,  for  he  feels  that  Cousrouf  has  answered 
the  question  with  which  he  had  vainly  tormented  himself  ; 
he  had  hesitated,  now  he  feels  that  he  has  advanced  a  step 
farther  toward  his  aim.  Now  he  knows  what  he  has  to  do  ; 


BUTHEITA.  325 

Fate  has  pointed  out  the  road  to  his  goal  through  Butheita, 
and  he  feels  that  she  will  lead  him  on  until  he  reaches  the 
throne  seen  by  his  mother  in  her  dreams,  and  becomes  the 
avenger  of  her  he  loved,  of  his  Masa. 

She  still  gazed  upon  the  upturned  countenance  of  her  pris- 
oner, now  lighted  up  by  the  rosy  light  of  the  morning  sun  ; 
she  is  struck  with  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  is  surprised  to 
learn  that  the  sarechsme  is  not  dejected  at  his  captivity. 

''  You  rejoice,"  said  she,  smiling,  and  again  displaying  her 
beautiful  teeth.  "  You  rejoice  over  your  captivity." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  such  a  captive  forever,  Butheita  ;  it  is 
heavenly  to  be  encircled  in  these  fair  arms." 

"  You  are  singing  your  sweet  songs  again,  and  oh,  they 
sound  so  sweet ! "  said  she.  And  yet,  as  he  attempts  to  lay  his 
head  closer  to  her  shoulder,  she  timidly  recoils  with  an  anx- 
ious look  in  her  eyes. 

"  Not  so,  stranger.  Honor  the  hospitality  of  my  house,  for 
my  dromedary  is  my  house,  and  I  wish  you  to  be  my  guest. 
And,  that  you  may  see  that  Butheita  is  sensible  of  the  duties 
of  a  hostess,  accept  this  banana  and  refresh  yourself  ;  you  will 
need  it." 

She  takes  two  bananas  from  the  bag  that  hangs  at  the  side 
of  the  saddle,  and  with  delight  Mohammed  sees  her  peel  the 
rich  fruit,  which  she  hands  him  with  a  delicious  smile. 

"Eat,  stranger  ;  eat,  and  refresh  yourself." 

She  has  forgotten  that  he  is  bound,  and  that  he  cannot  take 
the  fruit  from  her  hand. 

"This  heavenly  fruit  must  be  administered  by  your  fair 
hand  alone,"  said  he.  "  As  my  hands  are  bound,  you  must 
hold  it  to  my  lips  yourself.  Oh,  that  they  were  to  be  refreshed 
with  yours  instead  of  the  banana  ! " 

She  smiles  and  looks  down,  blushingly.  She  then  breaks 
the  fruit  and  brings  it  to  his  lips  in  little  morsels.  And  each 
time  he  raises  his  lips  so  high,  that  they  touch  not  only  the 
fruit  but  also  her  delicate  brown  fingers.  It  was  sweet  play, 
and  Mohammed  forgets  all  else.  This  night,  minutes  have 
been  as  hours  to  him,  and  now  he  would  have  them  become 
eternities.  Lovely  is  this  child  of  the  desert  that  bends  down 
over  him  ;  a  whole  world  of  maidenly  purity  and  sweetness 


326  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

and  untamed  nature  sparkles  down  upon  him  from  out  those 
large,  dark  eyes.  And  so  beautiful  and  innocent  are  those 
crimson  lips  !  Oh,  that  this  minute  could  endure  forever  ! 

But  time  passes  relentlessly  over  all  that  is  most  beautiful, 
and  this  blissful  moment  is  at  an  end.  Now  that  he  has  fin- 
ished eating  the  fruit,  Butheita  remembers  that  her  father's 
tent  is  yet  far  distant,  and  that  she  must  arrive  there  soon  after 
daybreak.  She  must  have  brought  her  prisoner  to  the  tent 
before  life  shall  have  awakened  on  the  desert.  Some  Bedouin 
might  easily  take  from  her  or  rescue  her  prisoner,  and  then 
her  fate  would  be  sealed,  for  the  sheik  will,  she  knows,  keep 
his  word.  "Then  onward,  my  dromedary,  onward  !"  And 
now  both  are  silent,  playing  and  love-making  are  at  an  end, 
and  onward  they  speed  toward  her  father's  tent.  "Onward, 
my  droniedary,  ship  of  the  desert,  fly  swiftly  ! "  And,  as  if 
understanding  her  words,  the  animal  increases  its  speed  over 
the  sand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  THE  DESERT. 

THE  ship  of  the  desert  is  still  flying  over  the  plain.  The 
sun  has  arisen,  and  throws  across  the  sand  the  long  shadow 
of  the  dromedary  and  of  the  two  human  heads.  Butheita  is 
seated  on  the  palanquin,  high  up  on  the  dromedary's  back. 
She  observes  the  long  shadow  and  the  two  heads  bobbing  up 
and  down,  and  a  merry  burst  of  laughter  resounds  from  her 
lips. 

"  Look  at  these  shadows  !  Only  look  at  them,  stranger  ; 
see,  they  are  kissing  each  other  in  the  sand  ! " 

"  And  why  the  shadows  only,  Butheita  ?  I  wish  you 
would  do  as  your  shadow,  and  bend  your  head  down  a  little 
closer." 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  such  things  ! "  said  she,  blushing  and 
drawing  her  head  still  farther  back.  "I  have  promised  my 
father  never  to  allow  a  stranger  to  kiss  me  until  he  shall  come 
who  is  to  lead  me  to  his  tent  as  his  wife.  And  this  is  why  I  am 


IN   THE   DESERT.  327 

permitted  to  wander  freely  through  the  desert,  and  not  cooped 
up  in  the  second  apartment  of  the  tent,  and  not  compelled  to 
cover  my  face  with  a  veil.  However,  when  I  ride  with  father 
to  Tantah,  then,  O  stranger,  I  dress  myself  up  as  the  women 
of  the  cities  do  !  Then  I  wear  a  long  silk  dress  and  a  splendid 
veil,  and  color  my  lips  and  hands  with  henna  !  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  Butheita,  you  make  of  the  houri  of  para- 
dise an  ordinary  human  being.  I  should  not  like  to  see  you 
when  you  look  like  other  women.  You  are  the  Queen  of  the 
Desert,  Butheita.'' 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  So  am  I  called  hy  the  Bedouins 
who  are  my  father's  subjects.  Yes,  they  are  very  respectful  to 
their  sheik's  daughter,  and  call  me  Queen  of  the  Desert.  They 
sometimes  say,"  continued  she,  smiling  :  "  '  Her  countenance 
shines  like  the  sun,  enkindling  in  flames  the  hearts  of  all  who 
approach  her.'  I,  however,  hold  myself  aloof  from  them,  and 
do  not  listen  to  what  they  say,  else  my  father  would  become 
angry,  and  would  deprive  me  of  my  liberty  to  roam  about  as 
I  please.  And  now  you  know  all,  stranger,  and  know  why  I 
may  not  kiss  you,  though  I  would  gladly  do  something  to 
please  the  poor  prisoner  ;  but  I  have  promised  this  to  my 
father  and  to  myself.  Therefore,  no  more  of  this.  Here  we 
must  halt.  Look  at  the  sublime  image  that  stands  there  so 
grandly,  and  throws  its  black  shadow  far  out  over  the  yellow 
sand.  That  is  the  true  Queen  of  the  Desert.  Let  me  turn  the 
animal  so  that  you  can  see  our  queen." 

Mohammed  looked  up  and  bowed  his  head  in  awe  before 
the  monster  image  that  stood  before  him.  He  saw  a  human 
face  and  a  mighty  figure  towering  before  him  in  gigantic  pro- 
portions. Yes,  it  was  a  human  countenance  !  From  out  those 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  compass  a  whole  world  within  their 
deep  hollows,  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  the  human  mind 
appeared  to  speak  to  him.  What  majestic  thought  was  reflect- 
ed in  that  massive  forehead  ?  The  eloquent  mouth  seemed  to 
announce  the  grand  mystery  of  the  universe.  The  whole 
mighty  countenance  seemed  to  contain  a  heaven  of  sublime 
peace,  and  to  be  radiant  with  a  happiness  unknown  to  the  hu- 
man breast  on  earth,  for  man  has  suffered  and  suffers.  Doubt, 
anxiety,  care,  and  misery,  have  sojourned  in  every  mortal 


328  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

breast ;  but  this  countenance,  that  towers  like  a  mountain  in 
its  divine  majesty,  knows  nothing  of  human  doubt  and  suffer- 
ing. Its  face  is  radiant  with  divine,  eternal  tranquillity — with 
the  peace  of  the  universe. 

''  How  grand,  how  sublime  1 ''  murmured  Mohammed,  gaz- 
ing fixedly  at  the  colossal  image  that  has  for  thousands  of  years 
looked  on  man,  and  smiled  on  him  from  out  the  depths  of  its 
unfathomable  eyes.  The  sphinx  has  looked  calmly  down  up- 
on generation  after  generation,  upon  men  of  every  faith  and 
religion,  and  has  seen  them  pass  away.  Heathens  have  be- 
come Christians,  Jews,  Mohammedans,  and  the  latter  in  their 
turn  have  become  converted  to  other  faiths,  and  change  upon 
change  has  taken  place.  The  sphinx  has  looked  down  upon 
all  this  !  itself  divine,  unchangeable  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
has  passed  and  passes  away. 

"See,"  murmured  Butheita,  "this  is  the  Queen  of  the 
Desert.  She  is  the  holy  sphinx,  before  whom  men  and  women 
have  fallen  in  the  dust  for  thousands  of  years,  and  before 
whom  kings  and  emperors  prostrate  themselves  to  this  day. 
Thus  spoke  the  scha-er  whom  I  heard  when  with  my  father  in 
Tantah  a  short  time  since  :  '  He  who  approaches  the  protect- 
ing goddess  of  mankind  must  fall  down  in  the  dust  before  her, 
and  worship  Allah  and  the  saints.' 

"  Kneel  down,  my  dromedary,  kneel  down,  my  Alpha  !  " 
and  she  draws  in  her  reins,  repeating  the  words  in  imperious 
tones.  The  animal  understands  her,  and  sinks  gravely  upon 
its  knees.  Butheita  bounds  down  from  her  seat  with  the  light- 
ness of  the  gazelle,  and  bows  low  before  the  sphinx,  her  arms 
crossed  on  her  breast. 

From  the  back  of  the  dromedary,  where  he  lies  bound,  her 
prisoner  looks  down  with  admiration  upon  the  lovely  girlish 
figure  that  skips  lightly  across  the  sand  to  the  foot  of  the  god- 
like figure.  How  small  she  appears  beside  the  mighty  image, 
like  a  flower  blooming  at  its  feet. 

Butheita  kneels  down  before  the  sphinx  and  murmurs  a 
prayer  for  protection  for  herself  and  father,  for  the  tent  in 
which  they  dwell,  for  the  dromedary,  and  for  the  goats  ;  and 
finally  also  for  the  stranger  whom  she  is  about  to  lead  to  her 
tent.  "  Grant,  O  Allah,  that  I  may  be  mild,  and  that  he  may 


IN   THE   DESERT.  399 

not  feel  his  fetters  too  severely  !  And  you,  O  holy  goddess  of 
the  desert,  grant  that  Butheita's  heart  may  remain  pure  and 
strong,  and  that  she  may  be  enabled  to  keep  the  promise  made 
to  her  father  !  " 

As  she  murmurs  these  words  a  slight  tremor  possessed 
itself  of  her  delicate  figure,  and  piously  and  timidly  she  looks 
up  into  the  illimitable,  unfathomable  eyes  of  the  sphinx,  that 
gaze  out  upon  the  whole  world.  Then  she  rises  and  smilingly 
salutes  once  more  with  her  little  brown  hand  the  Queen  of  the 
Desert,  and,  springing  lightly  upon  the  back  of  her  dromedary, 
grasps  the  reins. 

Butheita's  countenance  now  wears  a  serious  expression.  It 
seems  she  has  brought  solemn  thoughts  with  her  from  the 
goddess  of  the  desert,  and  from  time  to  time  she  casts  a  timid 
glance  at  the  prisoner,  who  lies  bound  before  her.  The  drom- 
edary moves  on  at  a  uniform  speed.  Those  it  is  bearing  on- 
ward speak  but  litttle.  Butheita's  heart  is  oppressed;  the 
sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  is  thoughtful  and  grave. 

Once  Butheita  raises  her  arm  and  points  to  some  towering 
objects  defined  sharply  against  the  sky  in  the  distance. 

"See,  stranger,  see;  those  are  the  grand  monuments  of  our 
kings,  the  Pharaohs,  the  pyramids,  and  there  lies  Sakkara, 
where  the  graves  of  the  holy  oxen  are  to  be  seen.  We  are 
almost  at  our  journey's  end.  There  lies  the  village  of  Petre- 
sin.  Its  inhabitants  still  sleep,  and  the  doors  of  the  huts  are 
closed :  they  do  not  see  us.  That  is  well,  that  is  necessary ; 
my  father  said  no  one  must  know  that  we  are  taking  you 
away  a  prisoner.  Do  you  see  that  little  spot  on  the  verge 
of  the  desert  ?  That  is  my  father's  tent." 

Butheita  patted  her  dromedary  on  the  neck  with  her  little 
hand,  urging  it  to  greater  speed.  Like  an  arrow  they  flew 
across  the  sand  until  they  had  reached  her  father's  tent. 
Butheita  drew  in  her  reins  at  the  door  and  commanded  the 
animal  to  kneel  down. 

"  Stranger,  we  are  at  our  journey's  end !  At  the  threshold 
of  our  tent,  Butheita  bids  you  welcome,  blessed  be  your 
entrance  into  our  house ! " 

She  quickly  loosens  the  shawl  that  binds  him  to  the  saddle, 
and  before  he  is  aware  of  what  she  is  doing  lifts  him  in  her 
22 


330  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

arms.  Lightly,  as  though  he  were  a  plaything,  she  bears  him 
into  the  inner  apartment  of  the  tent,  where  she  smilingly 
deposits  him  on  a  mat. 

"  Blessed  be  your  entrance  into  my  tent!  Now  refresh  your- 
self with  repose  after  your  long  ride.  I  am  going  out  to  pre- 
pare your  breakfast." 

He  follows  Butheita  with  eager  eyes,  as  she  steps  into  the 
other  apartment  of  the  tent.  Forgotten  are  all  the  schemes 
and  thoughts  that  ordinarily  occupy  him  day  and  night. 
Forgotten  are  the  past  and  future ;  he  now  lives  for  the  pres- 
ent only.  May  the  sun  mercifully  stand  still,  and  this  hour 
prove  an  eternity!  Why  occupy  himself  with  thoughts  of 
the  future,  the  present  is  so  beautiful,  so  heavenly  ?  Oh,  that 
it  could  last  forever !  But  no !  a  cloud  passes  over  his  brow ; 
he  remembers 

"  No !  Let  the  present  pass  rapidly,"  said  he.  "  I  am  a 
prisoner,  and  how  would  my  soldiers  laugh  to  see  the  sarechs- 
me,  Mohammed  Ali,  bound  and  a  captive  in  the  tent  of  a 
Bedouin  chieftain!" 

He  knew  that  Butheita  had  remained  in  the  other  apart- 
ment and  heard  his  words.  She  quickly  went  to  him,  pro- 
found sorrow  depicted  in  her  charming  countenance. 

"  They  would  laugh  at  you,  sarechsme  ?  Oh,  how  sorry  I 
should  be  to  have  them  do  so !  True,  it  is  unpleasant  to  be  a 
prisoner.  Yet,  you  must  know  that  my  father  is  highly 
esteemed ;  he  is  the  first  man  of  the  village.  O  sarechsme,  the 
Bedouins  call  him  their  father,  their  protector,  and  the  Mame- 
lukes are  proud  of  his  friendship ;  and  it  was  out  of  love  for 
them  that  he  made  you  a  prisoner.  If  you  are  unhappy,  oh, 
forgive  poor  Butheita,  who  was  compelled  to  obey  her  father's 
commands !  Oh,  do  not  be  angry  with  her ! " 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,"  said  he,  gently.  "  Yet  con- 
sider, is  it  not  hard  and  shameful  for  me,  a  man  and  a  soldier, 
to  lie  here  bound  hand  and  foot  ? " 

Her  countenance  lighted  up  with  joy.  "  Yes,  I  understand 
that,"  said  she,  thoughtfully.  "  It  pains  me  to  the  soul,  not  to 
be  able  to  lessen  your  misery,  to  improve  your  condition. 
Yet,"  she  suddenly  continued,  "  I  can  and  I  will  relieve  you." 

"That  you  can,  if  you  will,"  murmured  he.     "Seat  your- 


IN   THE   DESERT.  331 

self  beside  me,  Butheita.  Let  me  hear  your  voice.  Tell  me 
the  sweet  history  of  your  heart.  Remain  with  me  till  your 
father  comes.  While  listening  I  shall  forget  all  shame  and 
disgrace,  and  rejoice  only  in  your  presence.  It  would  seem 
as  though  a  good  spirit  had  led  me  into  another  world,  where 
an  angel  was  howed  down  over  me,  to  whom  I  looked  up  in 
sweet  ecstasy ! " 

"  No,  it  will  only  be  a  poor  child  of  the  desert,  who  sits  be- 
side you,"  said  Butheita,  smiling.  "  Only  look  at  poor,  miser- 
able me.  There  is  nothing  beautiful  or  radiant  about  me, 
proud  stranger !  Let  me  go,  you  would  die  of  hunger  and 
thirst  if  I  remained  here,  and  it  would  be  shameful,  too,  if  I 
should  neglect  the  duty  of  hospitality  toward  my  guest.  But 
I  will  tell  you  what  I  can  and  will  do !  You  shall  not  lie 
there  bound.  I  will  not  have  it  so,  Mohammed  Ali.  Give 
me  your  sacred  word  that  you  will  not  leave,  but  will  remain 
here  until  my  father  comes  for  you.  Give  me  your  word,  and 
I  will  untie  the  cords  that  bind  your  hands  and  feet.  Give 
me  your  word." 

He  looks  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  still  have  such  faith  in  man's  promises  that  you 
believe  I  would  keep  my  word  if  I  gave  it  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  smiling;  ''I  do;  this  would  be  a  horrible 
world  if  one  could  not.  My  father  has  often  said  to  me  : 
'  When  a  man  has  given  his  word  he  keeps  it,  though  the  con- 
sequence should  be  death.  Thus  a  truly  brave  man  acts  ;  only 
cowards  break  their  word.'" 

"  Then  you  consider  me  a  truly  brave  man,  Butheita,  and 
not  a  coward  ? " 

"  It  is  only  necessary  to  look  at  you,  stranger,"  said  she, 
with  a  winning  smile,  "to  feel  in  the  depths  of  one's  heart 
that  you  are  a  man,  and  no  coward.  Give  me  your  word,  and 
you  are  unfettered.  Give  me  your  word  that  you  will  not 
leave." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  gazing  at  her  joyously,  "  I  give  you  my 
word,  as  a  man !  I  swear  by  Allah,  and  the  prophet,  and  by  my 
own  honor,  I  will  not  leave  here  until'your  father  comes  and 
says  that  I  may,  and  states  the  conditions.  I  will,  if  you  will 
permit  me,  remain  with  you  in  the  mean  while,  and  do  nothing 


332  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

but  look  at  you.  I  will  be  your  slave;  drink  the  sweet  dew 
from  your  lips,  and  read  your  commands  in  your  eyes.  Tell 
me,  pearl  of  women,  will  you  accept  me  as  your  slave  ? " 

Without  answering  his  question,  she  knelt  down  blushingly, 
and  untied  the  cords  that  bound  his  hands  and  feet.  "  Now, 
stand  up,  a  free  man !  " 

He  arose,  and  with  a  feeling  of  intense  relief,  stretched  out 
the  hands  that  ached  from  their  long  confinement,  and 
extended  his  arms.  He  would  gladly  have  clasped  the  girl  in 
their  embrace,  but,  with  the  grace  and  ease  of  a  gazelle,  she 
sprang  back  out  of  his  reach  to  the  door  of  the  tent,  and 
looked  at  him  threateningly. 

"  Mohammed  Ali,  if  you  abuse  your  freedom,  you  are  not 
the  man  I  took  you  to  be." 

He  bowed  his  head  in  silence.  "You  are  right,  Butheita, 
forgive  me !  I  submit  to  the  will  of  the  desert  queen ;  I  am 
your  slave,  and  await  your  commands ;  command  me,  and  I 
will  humbly  obey." 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  Butheita's  large  black  eyes 
gazed  at  him  with  a  soft  expression,  and  again  a  tremor  agi- 
tated her  gentle  being. 

"  I  desire  nothing  more,  sarechsme,"  said  she,  timidly,  "than 
that  you  remain  here  in  the  rear  apartment  of  the  tent,  and  I 
beg  you,  should  any  one  come,  to  remain  here  quietly ;  as  it  is 
that  place  generally  reserved  for  women,  no  one  will  dare  to 
enter  it.  I  dwell  in  it  alone,  for  my  father  is  not  fond  of 
women!  He  says  they  are  talkative  and  quarrelsome,  vain 
and  lazy,  too,  and  he  has  had  enough  of  them.  Twelve  wives 
has  he  brought  to  his  tent,  one  after  the  other,  but  after  a 
short  time  he  sent  every  one  of  them  home  to  her  father.  I 
am  the  daughter  of  his  first  wife,  and  my  father  loves  me  more 
than  he  has  ever  loved  any  of  them ;  and  he  wants  no  woman 
in  his  tent  but  his  Butheita.  Nor  do  I  wish  to  have  any  other 
woman  here.  I  can  attend  to  father's  household  affairs 
quite  well,  alone.  I  milk  the  goats,  make  the  butter,  and  bake 
the  bread.  I  also  spin  the  wool  of  our  black  sheep,  and  still 
have  plenty  of  time  left  to  knit  the  shawls  my  father 
needs." 

"  So  industrious,  Butheita  ?    Happy  and  enviable  will  the 


IN   THE   DESERT.  333 

man  be  who  shall  some  day  lead  your  father's  daughter  to  his 
home!" 

"  You  need  not  envy  him,"  said  she,  quickly,  "  there  will 
be  no  such  man.  It  is  with  me  as  with  my  father  ;  he  loves 
only  me,  and  I  only  him.  No  man  shall  ever  lead  me  to  his 
tent  as  his  wife  ! " 

"  Butheita  will  say  that  until  she  loves  some  man,"  replied 
Mohammed,  looking  deeply  into  her  eyes.  "  Would  Butheita 
one  day  follow  me  to  my  tent — me  ? " 

She  did  not  reply.  She  drew  back  in  alarm,  and  again  she 
blushed  deeply,  quite  unlike  a  child  of  the  desert,  but  after 
the  fashion  of  a  city  girl,  and  drew  aside  the  curtain  that 
divided  the  tent. 

"  I  am  only  going  to  prepare  your  breakfast." 

He  did  as  she  had  requested,  and  retired  to  the  second 
apartment  of  the  tent,  to  patiently  await  Butheita's  return. 
There  he  sat  absorbed  in  thought,  seemingly  forgetful  that  he 
was  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  All,  and  a  captive,  for  a  happy 
smile  rested  on  his  lips.  His  thoughts  were  beyond  the  sea, 
in  the  distant  Cavalla.  Whom  did  he  see  there  ?  It  seems  to 
him  that  Masa  stands  before  him  with  her  large  soft  eyes,  and 
sweet  smile  ;  and  Masa's  image  is  strangely  interwoven  with 
that  of  the  Bedouin-child,  Butheita.  The  two  fair  forms  were 
blended,  and  it  did  not  displease  him.  Yet  another  face  is 
there.  It  regards  him  with  a  grave  yet  kindly  expression. 
It  is  not  the  face  of  a  young  girl  ;  sweet  and  youthful  fresh- 
ness and  love  are  not  in  its  features,  and  yet  it  is  a  loved  face, 
that  of  his  wife  Ada,  the  mother  of  his  children.  No,  he  has 
not  forgotten  her  !  How  could  it  be  possible  after  living  side 
by  side  in  peace  and  harmony  for  almost  ten  years  !  How 
could  it  be  possible  to  forget  her  who  had  given  him  three 
loved  lives  ?  Ah,  his  beloved  boys,  how  his  heart  yearns 
after  them  !  Yet  his  heart  yearns  for  her  too,  for  his  wife. 

For  almost  ten  years  this  quiet-loving  woman  has  sat  by 
his  side,  and  he  will  never  put  her  away  from  him,  never  for- 
get her,  the  mother  of  his  children.  Years  pass  rapidly,  but  a 
man's  heart  does  not  grow  old.  A  man's  heart  is  ever  young, 
ever  fresh  for  a  new  love,  and  every  love  seems  to  him  to  be 
the  first. 


334:  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

If  Butheita  were  not  the  daughter  of  a  Bedouin  chieftain, 
but  a  Georgian  or  Circassian  slave,  he  would  give  for  her  all 
the  riches  he  possesses  ;  the  beautiful  house  and  furniture 
given  him  by  Cousrouf  Pacha.  He  would  make  her  his  wife, 
cost  what  it  might.  "I  thank  you,  O  Mohammed,  thou 
great  prophet,  who,  reading  the  heart  of  man,  allows  him 
to  have  four  wives.  I  would  Butheita  were  my  second 
wife." 

The  curtain  of  the  tent  is  drawn  aside,  and  Butheita  enters, 
a  wooden  waiter  in  her  hand.  All  that  she  has  to  set  before 
her  guest,  the  beautiful  dates  and  bananas,  the  black  bread, 
the  butter,  all  are  nicely  arranged  on  the  waiter,  which  she 
now  smilingly  deposits  at  the  feet  of  her  guest. 

"  Now  seat  yourself  on  the  mat,  beloved  guest,  and  refresh 
yourself  with  what  poor  Butheita  has  to  offer  you.  Pray  take 
the  bread  and  break  it,  and  let  us  eat  it  together  in  token  that 
we  are  friends,  and  that  you  are  sacred  to  me." 

"  And  you  are  sacred  to  me,"  replies  Mohammed,  gravely, 
as  he  takes  up  the  black  bread  and  breaks  it.  Together  they 
eat  of  it,  and  then  sit  down  beside  each  other,  and  refresh  them- 
selves with  Butheita's  daintily-arranged  fruits  and  goat's  milk. 
Butheita  tells  him  in  her  charming  way  of  her  housekeeping, 
of  her  sheep  and  goats,  and  how  glad  they  were  when  she  re- 
turned. 

Mohammed  has  forgotten  his  ambitious  plans,  all  the 
thousand  wishes  that  agitated  his  heart  at  other  times.  For 
the  moment  he  is  once  more  the  boy  of  Cavalla,  communing 
with  Nature  in  innocence  and  joyousness,  for  to  him  Buthei- 
ta's fair  form  now  represents  Nature  !  It  is  not  indeed  Nature 
itself  that  charms  him,  but  Nature's  fair  daughter,  Butheita. 
He  must  and  will  resist  the  charm,  for  he  has  now  broken 
bread,  and  eaten  fruit  with  her.  He  is  her  guest,  and  he  must 
hold  his  young  hostess  sacred. 

He  forces  himself  to  assume  a  grave  manner,  and  directs 
his  thoughts  to  turn  from  her  fair  presence  and  occupy  them- 
selves with  the  events  that  have  taken  place,  and  the  great 
wrong  done  him.  Perhaps  at  this  moment  a  battle  is  raging 
on  the  plain  of  Damanbour,  and  Youssouf  Bey  is  perhaps  vic- 
torious over  the  Mamelukes.  What  will  his  fate  be  in  that 


THE  AGREEMENT.  335 

case  ?  will  not  the  defeated  enemy  avenge  themselves  cruelly 
on  him  ?  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  Youssouf  has  been  routed 
and  put  to  flight,  then  woe  to  you  alike,  Mohammed  !  Yous- 
souf will  then  complain  of  him  to  Cousrouf  Pacha,  and  he  will 
be  accused  of  treason — yes,  of  treason,  if  he  does  not  confess 
that  he  is  a  prisoner.  But,  if  he  confesses  this,  he  will  be- 
come the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  army.  Yes,  in  Buthei- 
ta's  presence  all  that  was  painful  and  disagreeable  in  his  posi- 
tion had  been  forgotten.  Now  he  endeavors  to  force  his 
thoughts  to  consider  these  things.  Away  with  thoughts  of 
thee,  Queen  of  the  Desert  ! 

He  rises  from  the  mat,  and  thanks  his  hostess  for  the  re- 
past in  set  phrases,  and  with  a  cold  manner  ;  he  begs  her  to 
pay  no  attention  to  him,  and  not  to  allow  herself  to  be  dis- 
turbed in  her  household  occupations  by  him.  Butheita  looks 
at  him  with  astonishment — an  expression  of  offended  pride  in 
her  countenance. 

"You  desire  to  be  alone,  stranger  ?  I  can  well  understand 
that  my  foolish  words  annoy  you.  I  will  leave  you  alone, 
sarechsme.  I  see  well  you  are  a  proud  man,  and  it  does  not 
seem  proper  to  you  to  be  alone  with  a  Bedouin's  daughter 
long.  I  can  not  prevent  it  ;  forgive  me.  I  will  attend  to  my 
household  affairs,  as  you  suggest.  I  rely  on  your  promise, 
stranger,  not  to  leave  the  inner  apartment." 

"  You  can  rely  on  my  word,"  said  he,  earnestly.  "  I  am 
your  prisoner,  your  slave.  I  am  so  more  completely  than  you 
think." 

A  charming  smile  again  lights  up  her  brown  countenance. 
With  a  joyous  nod  of  her  head,  she  bounds  out  of  the  tent. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  AGREEMENT. 

THE  sun  was  already  low  in  the  heavens.  The  palm-trees 
in  the  neighboring  wood  of  Petresin  threw  long  shadows 
across  the  yellow  sand,  and  yet  Sheik  Arnhyn  had  not  yet 


336  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

come,  and  Mohammed  waited  in  vain  for  intelligence  con- 
cerning his  captor's  purposes. 

He  had  again  been  seated  with  Butheita  on  the  mat,  and 
had  eaten  with  her  as  in  the  morning. 

He  had  endeavored  to  chat  gayly  with  the  Queen  of  the 
Desert ;  but  her  quick  eye  had  read  in  his  countenance  that 
a  cloud  rested  on  his  soul,  and  the  brightness  faded  from  her 
eyes. 

She  turned  to  him  when  he  had  risen  from  the  mat  and 
was  walking  thoughtfully  to  and  fro  in  the  narrow  tent. 
"  Tell  me,  O  stranger,  is  your  heart  so  very  sad  ?  Is  there 
nothing  Butheita  can  do  for  you  ?  You  are  wearied  ;  this 
space  is  too  narrow  for  you.  Your  soul,  whose  wings  are 
pinioned,  would  fly  out  into  the  world.  The  world  without  is 
very  beautiful,  I  know." 

"  Do  you  know  this  world  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  his  lips 
smiling  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  she.  "  I  have  been  with  father  to  Tantah 
several  times.  While  there  I  heard  the  scha-er  tell  their 
beautiful  stories  of  Ey-Zahir.  I  listened  with  breathless  at- 
tention. And  then,  too,  I  heard  the  female  singers,  the  Ga- 
vasi.  They  sang  beautiful  songs,  and  the  words  and  tones 
have  often  since  resounded  in  my  heart.  Do  you  know,  sa- 
rechsme,  that  often,  when  my  father  had  gone  out  with  his  Bed- 
ouins to  fight  or  to  plunder,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  then 
my  only  pleasure  was  to  take  down  the  zammarah  bisoan,  on 
which  my  mother  played,  and  sing  to  its  accompaniment  the 
songs  I  had  learned  from  the  Gavasi.  Shall  I  sing  them  for 
you  ?  Shall  I  ?  But  you  must  not  laugh  at  me  for  repeating 
what  the  Gavasi  sang  in  Tantah." 

Without  awaiting  a  reply,  she  took  down  the  little  bagpipe 
with  its  bag  of  goat-skin,  and  to  its  shrill  accompaniment 
sang  a  quaint  love-song  with  an  admixture  of  the  comic. 

Her  countenance  had  become  grave,  and  a  sweet  fire 
burned  in  her  eyes,  while  singing  to  the  monotonous  air  in  a 
shrill,  vibrating  voice,  as  was  customary  with  the  street-singers 
of  the  Egyptian  towns.  When  she  had  finished  her  song,  she 
turned  the  gaze  of  her  dark  eyes  upon  Mohammed  with  an 
inquiring  expression.  When  she  saw  the  smile  on  his  coun- 


TEE  AGREEMENT.  337 

tenance,  and  encountered  the  wondrous  glance  that  seemed  to 
penetrate  to  her  very  soul,  she  started.  "  It  pleases  you,"  said 
she  ;  "  I  read  in  your  countenance  that  you  are  pleased.  Then 
I  will  sing  you  another  song. " 

She  took  up  her  instrument  again,  and  sang,  in  loud,  joy- 
ous tones,  a  song  about  a  gazelle-like  maiden  who  had  run 
away  with  her  lover's  soul,  concluding  with — 

"  Throughout  the  long,  long  night  his  sighing  ceases  not, 
his  sighing  for  the  dear  gazelle  that  stole  away  his  soul.  Have 
pity  on  your  lover  ;  come  back  to  me,  gazelle  !  " 

"  Gazelle,  come  back  to  me  !  "  cried  Mohammed,  with  out- 
stretched arms.  "  Gazelle,  have  pity  on  your  lover  !  " 

She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  him,  bowed  down  over  her 
instrument,  and  played  in  such  loud,  shrill  tones,  that  it  al- 
most deafened  Mohammed,  who  well  understood  Butheita's 
motive  in  playing  so. 

He  smiled  at  her  in  silence.     Butheita  laughed. 

"  You  see  my  song  has  gladdened  you,  and  your  counte- 
nance smiles  again.  O  joy  !  See,  there  in  the  distance  !  Yes, 
there  come  two  figures  !  That  is  my  father,  that  is  Sheik  Arn- 
hyn  !  Some  one  accompanies  him  !  Rejoice,  sarechsme  ;  you 
will  be  relieved  of  your  ennui  I " 

He  laid  his  hand  gently  on  her  shoulder,  and  regarded  her 
with  a  long,  earnest  look,  that  recalled  the  roses  to  her  brown 
cheeks. 

"  I  do  not  rejoice,  Butheita,  Queen  of  the  Desert.  I  have 
erected  a  throne  for  you  in  my  heart,  and  my  heart  spoke  to 
you  in  the  words  of  your  song — '  Throughout  the  long,  long 
night  my  sighing  ceases  not,  my  sighing  for  the  dear  gazelle 
that  stole  away  my  heart.'  Then  speak,  gazelle  :  shall  I  take 
you  with  me  ?  will  you  live  with  me  in  the  great  city  ?  Speak 
to  me,  gazelle  I " 

She  gazed  far  out  over  the  yellow  sand  toward  the  two 
specks,  in  which  her  keen  eye  recognized  two  human  figures, 
but  in  which  he  saw  only  two  black  specks  that  gradually  in- 
creased in  size. 

"Answer  me,  Butheita.  Their  coming  does  not  gladden 
me,  and  the  thought  of  leaving  you  makes  me  sad.  If  you 
fancy  I  have  found  it  dull  here,  you  are  in  error.  My  heart  is 


338  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

only  too  much  occupied.  Butheita,  sweetest  of  maidens,  speak 
to  me  !  Speak  to  me,  gazelle  !  " 

"  See,  sarechsme — father  waves  his  hand  ! "  cried  she.  "  He 
already  sees  us  standing  here  ;  his  eye  is  as  keen  as  an  eagle's. 
He  sees  us  !  Come,  let  us  step  back  for  a  moment,  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you. — To  be  sure  I  might  have  told  you 
where  we  were,"  she  continued,  blushing,  as  she  stepped  be- 
hind the  curtain.  "  I  might  as  well  have  told  you  at  the 
door,  for  father  could  not  have  heard  it,  although  he  could 
see  us/' 

u  Speak,  Butheita,  what  did  you  wish  to  say  ?    Speak  !  " 

"  I  have  forgotten,  sarechsme.  But  I  believe  I  wished  to 
thank  you  for  saying  you  had  not  found  it  dull  here^  It 
seems  to  me  that  only  a  moment  has  passed  since  I  saw  you 
yesterday,  and  yet  it  is  an  eternity.  Yesterday  lies  far  behind 
me,  and  to-day  seems  entirely  different.  The  sun  seems  to  be 
another,  and  I  myself  another,  too.  You  see  I  am  a  very  silly 
child." 

"And  why  do  you  falter?  Why  do  I  see  tears  in  your 
eyes,  Butheita  ? " 

"  Because  I'm  a  foolish  child  !  A  strange  feeling  comes 
over  me,"  said  she,  sadly.  "  You  will  now  go  ;  the  man  who 
is  coming  with  father  will  take  you  away  from  us,  and  I  shall 
never  see  you  again." 

"  Then  give  me,  O  Butheita,  give  me  one  of  the  roses  that 
blossom  on  your  lips." 

"  That  blossom  on  my  lips  ? "  said  she,  surprised,  as  she 
passed  her  little  brown  hand  across  her  mouth.  "  A  rose  on 
my  lips  ?  What  does  that  mean,  stranger  ? " 

He  bowed  down  over  her.  She  felt  his  warm  breath  on  her 
brown  cheek. 

''  Give  me  a  rose !  Let  me  pluck  a  kiss  from  your 
lips  ! " 

Butheita's  cheeks  blushed  crimson.  She  put  out  her  rosy 
lips,  but  then  suddenly  drew  back  and  defended  herself  vigor- 
ously. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  of  my  promise  to  my  father  ?  No  man 
shall  ever  kiss  me  except  the  one  who  shall  lead  me  to  his  tent 
as  his  wife.  It  is  well  that  father  is  coming.  Farewell,  sa- 


THE  AGREEMENT.  339 

rechsme,  if  I  should  not  see  you  again  !    Farewell !  and  let 
me  keep  my  vow  1 " 

She  gently  pushes  him  back,  and  flies  out  of  the  tent  to 
meet  her  father.  Sheik  Arnhyn  recognizes  and  hails  her  with 
a  shout  of  delight. 

"  Butheita,  have  you  succeeded,  have  you  guarded  the 
stranger  well  ? " 

"  I  have  taken  good  care  of  him  ;  come,  father,  and  see  !  " 
She  takes  her  father's  arm,  and,  without  looking  at  the  man 
who  walks  close  behind  him,  draws  the  sheik  quickly  to  the 
tent. 

But  Mohammed,  with  a  proud  and  grave  expression  of 
countenance,  advances  to  meet  them.  Butheita  now  hardly 
recognizes,  in  the  haughty  sarechsme,  with  his  imperious  bear- 
ing, the  stranger,  who  is  no  longer  a  stranger  to  her  heart. 

"  Speak,  sheik !  How  dared  you  lead  me  away,  a  prisoner, 
from  my  army  ?  Really,  you  were  very  presumptuous.  Such 
conduct  is  calculated  to  excite  my  just  anger  and  indigna- 
tion." 

The  shiek  made  a  profound  obeisance. 

"  I  trust  you  will  forgive  me,  sarechsme  ;  what  I  did  was 
done  at  the  command  of  my  master.  There  he  comes  ;  he  is 
called  Osman  Bey  Bardissi.  He  comes  crowned  with  victory, 
and  will  treat  with  you. — Come,  Butheita,  what  they  have  to 
say  to  each  other  does  not  concern  us,  we  have  done  our  duty, 
and  I  have  performed  what  I  promised.  The  Mameluke  bey 
has  also  kept  his  promise,  and  my  men  are  already  on  the  bat- 
tle-field ;  I,  too,  must  speedily  return,  my  child,  for  we  are  to 
bring  home  costly  spoils." 

While  walking  with  her  to  the  tent,  he  tells  her  of  the 
splendid  caftans,  the  golden  vessels,  the  jewelled  daggers,  and 
the  costly  arms,  that  he  has  already  gathered  from  the  field  of 
battle. 

In  the  mean  while  the  two  men  have  approached  each 
other.  Now  they  stand  face  to  face,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  and 
the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  regard  each  other  with  a 
long,  gloomy  look.  Both,  it  seems,  wish  to  avoid  being  the 
first  to  speak  a  word  of  greeting. 

Finally,  Osman  breaks  the  silence.     "This,  Mohammed 


340  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

Ali,  is  our  third  meeting.  The  first,  you  will  recollect,  was  at 
Cavalla.  Two  boys,  both  ambitious,  addressed  each  other  in 
tones  of  mockery  and  derision.  In  the  years  that  have  since 
passed,  I  have  often  thought  of  the  boy  with  the  eagle  eyes  and 
the  haughty,  contemptuous  smile.  Our  second  meeting  oc- 
curred a  few  months  since,  after  the  massacre  at  Aboukir. 
You  were  my  enemy,  and  yet  you  acted  as  my  friend.  You 
saved  Osman  Bey  Bardissi's  life.  Then  I  said  to  you :  '  I  will 
remember  this,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  in  me  you  have  found  a 
friend  for  all  time.'  " 

"  Such  were  your  words,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,"  replied  Mo- 
hammed, his  voice  tremulous  with  anger,  "  and  now  I  have 
received  a  proof  of  your  friendship  !  You  have  had  me  snared 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  abducted  from  my  camp  and  my  soldiers, 
to  become  a  laughing-stock  for  them  and  an  object  of  derision 
for  your  people." 

Bardissi  shook  his  head  quietly.  "  You  are  in  error,  Mo- 
hammed Ali  ;  none  of  my  men  know  what  has  occurred,  nor 
do  I  believe  that  yours  do.  No  one  shall  ever  learn,  I  swear  it 
by  Allah,  where  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  has  passed 
this  night,  or  by  whom  he  was  abducted.  No,  no  one  shall 
ever  learn  it !  You  can  rest  assured,  Sheik  Arnhyn  is  not  the 
man  to  babble  like  a  woman  when  he  should  hold  his  peace, 
and  Butheita  is  his  obedient  daughter.  This  matter  shall  be 
kept  to  ourselves.  We  meet  to-day  for  the  third  time,  and  do 
you  know  why,  Mohammed  Ali  ?  I  caused  you  to  be  abducted 
because  I  promised  you  friendship.  I  did  not  wish  to  confront 
you  as  an  enemy;  against  my  wish  a  bullet  might  have 
chanced  to  strike  you  ;  and,  I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  I  feel 
drawn  to  you,  I  feel  a  desire  to  be  your  friend.  I  wish  to  fight 
at  your  side,  and  not  against  you.  We  two,  O  Mohammed — 
we  two,  united — could  make  our  land  happy,  great,  and  free,  I 
feel  assured.  I  read  this  in  your  countenance  when  we  met 
on  the  ship.  A  voice  seemed  to  whisper  in  my  heart :  '  He 
can  assist  you,  he  must  be  your  friend  ! '  Your  eye  glittered 
as  I  have  seen  but  one  other  glitter  ;  a  proud  consciousness  of 
power  was  expressed  in  your  features,  such  as  I  have  seen  in 
those  of  but  one  other  man,  and  to  this  day  I  regret  that  he 
was  our  enemy,  and  that  he  has  left  us." 


THE   AGREEMENT. 

"  And  who  was  this  man  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  French  general.  They  called  him  Bonaparte, 
and  he  was  a  great  man.  It  seems  to  me  you  resemble  him, 
Mohammed  Ali  ;  like  him  you  seem  to  stand  gazing  out  upon 
the  world,  conscious  of  power  and  heroism,  and  resolved  to 
bring  it  into  subjection,  as  he  was,  but  could  not.  For,  ob- 
serve, this  was  his  mistake :  he  assumed  a  hostile  attitude  to- 
ward the  Mamelukes,  instead  of  seeking  their  friendship.  And 
this  I  now  hope  of  you,  Mohammed  Ali,  that  you  will  make 
friends  of  the  Mamelukes,  and  not  remain  on  the  side  of  our 
treacherous  enemies  the  Turks.  It  does  not  beseem  you.  Your 
soul  is  great,  and  your  actions  heroic  !  Why  are  you  with  the 
Turks  ?  It  does  not  beseem  you." 

"  It  does  not  beseem  me  I "  cried  Mohammed  excitedly ; 
"  truly  it  does  not  beseem  me — " 

"  Be  still,  my  friend,  I  pray  you ! "  said  Bardissi,  interrupt- 
ing him.  "  Listen  first  to  what  I  have  to  say.  Do  you  know 
whence  I  come  ?  Look  at  me !  Do  you  see  these  dark  spots  on 
my  clothing  ?  'Tis  blood,  Mohammed  Ali,  human  blood.  It 
splashed  on  me  from  many  a  wound !  Go  thither,  Mohammed 
Ali ;  go  to  the  plain  of  Damanhour.  The  bodies  of  the  dead 
lie  thick  there — the  bodies  of  dead  Turks,  Mohammed  Ali  ! " 

"And  the  bodies  of  many  Mamelukes  also,  I  should  think," 
rejoined  Mohammed  quickly. 

Osman  Bey  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  Not  many !  You  are 
in  error,  Mohammed  Ali.  We  hurriedly  counted  them. 
Three  thousand  Turks  lie  dead  upon  the  battle-field  of  Daman- 
hour;  of  our  men,  of  the  Mamelukes,  hardly  sixty!" 

"  That  is  impossible ! "  cried  Mohammed,  in  dismay. 

"It  seems  impossible,  yet  it  is  the  truth,  Mohammed  Ali," 
replied  Bardissi,  drawing  himself  up  proudly.  "  I  tell  you, 
three  thousand  Turks  and  hardly  sixty  Mamelukes ;  and  ours 
is  the  battle-field.  Those  of  the  Turks  who  were  not  shot 
down  or  sabred  have  fled  to  bear  to  Cairo  the  disastrous  intel- 
ligence— that  eight  hundred  Mamelukes  have  vanquished  over 
three  thousand  Turks  led  by  Youssouf  Bey,  the  kiaya  of  the 
viceroy.  The  proud  man  is  defeated,  and  may  return  to  Cairo 
with  the  miserable  remnants  of  his  magnificence  to  announce 
his  disgrace.  I  tell  you,  Mohammed,  it  was  a  wondrous 


34:2  MOHAMMED  ALT  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

battle !  Youssouf  Bey  had  drawn  up  bis  army  on  the  plain  of 
Damanhour,  behind  them  their  artillery.  While  we  were  form- 
ing in  front  of  them,  their  artillery  began  to  thunder;  it  was 
to  carry  death  into  our  ranks,  and  it  succeeded.  Fearful  was 
the  first  shock !  I  began  to  fear  lest  my  men  should  flinch. 
I  called  to  them  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  them  bore  down 
upon  the  enemy  with  the  speed  of  the  lightning,  regardless  of 
the  thundering  artillery.  But  its  discharges  were  murderous, 
and  I  saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  advance  farther  in  this 
direction.  We  then  turned,  and,  before  the  Turks  could  take 
measures  to  prevent  it,  fell  upon  their  unprotected  left  flank 
and  bore  down  upon  their  ranks.  The  first  rank,  surprised 
and  terrified  by  my  sudden  flank  attack,  gave  way,  and  their 
infantry  was  thrown  into  disorder.  The  blows  of  our  ata- 
ghans  fell  thick  and  fast.  The  enemy  turned  and  fled  in  wild 
disorder,  we  following  them.  Mohammed  A.li,  the  slaughter 
was  dreadful  !  Eight  hundred  Mamelukes  vanquished  over 
three  thousand  Turks !  Sheik  Arnhyn's  Bedouins,  who  are 
now  on  the  field,  can  show  you  the  rich  spoils.  Let  them  rob 
the  dead ;  for  me  and  mine,  who  scorn  to  do  this,  spoils  enough 
still  remain ;  we  have  captured  all  their  artillery,  and  muni- 
tions of  war  in  abundance.  '  It  was  a  glorious  day,'  so  say  the 
Mameluke  beys.  '  It  was  a  disastrous  day,'  will  the  viceroy, 
throned  in  the  proud  citadel  at  Cairo,  lament. 

"  Do  you  now  understand,  O  sarechsme,  why  I  caused  you 
to  be  abducted  from  your  camp  by  my  friend  Sheik  Arnhyn  ? 
I  did  it  partly  on  my  own  account,  and  partly  out  of  friend- 
ship for  you.  You  look  at  me  inquiringly ;  you  do  not  under- 
stand !  I  will  explain.  Intelligence  had  been  brought  to  me 
that,  should  Youssouf  Bey  be  defeated,  you  were  to  march 
rapidly  to  his  assistance.  I  saw  the  messenger  sent  by  him  to 
call  you  to  his  assistance;  you  would  have  come  too  late. 
You  could  only  have  shared  defeat  had  you  come  up  with 
your  troops,  exhausted  by  their  march,  and  attacked  the 
Mamelukes,  flushed  with  victory.  They  would  have  defeated 
you,  and  therefore  do  I  consider  it  an  act  of  friendship  to 
have  prevented  your  coming  at  all.  Yet,  I  would  not  conceal 
the  truth.  Truly,  Osman  Bey  Bardissi  loves  the  truth,  and 
therefore  I  tell  you  I  also  did  it  on  my  own  account,  and  on 


THE  AGKEEMENT.  343 

account  of  my  Mamelukes.  I  well  know  what  mettle  your 
other  generals  are  made  of  !  From  Youssouf  Bey  and  Taher 
Pacha  the  Mameluke  Beys  have  nothing  to  fear ;  I  know 
them,  and  know  that  they  are  poor  soldiers ;  but  of  you,  Mo- 
hammed Ali,  I  have  a  different  opinion.  When  I  saw  you  on 
the  ship,  I  said  to  myself  :  '  This  man  will  become  a  hero ;  woe 
to  us  when  he  confronts  us  in  battle,  but  joy  if  we  can  win 
him  to  our  side  and  make  him  our  friend  ! '  Therefore,  I 
entreat  you,  be  our  friend,  Mohammed  Ali.  Abandon  the 
treacherous  Turks,  for  treacherous  they  are!  We  saw  this  at 
Aboukir,  and  I  think  have  aroused  indignation  in  your  gal- 
lant heart  to  see  them  massacre  so  many  of  our  noblest  beys 
through  vile  trickery  and  treachery.  I  can  well  understand 
that  you  cannot  admit  this  while  you  are  a  sarechsme  of  the 
Turks ;  yet,  be  one  of  us,  Mohammed  Ali.  Confess  to  yourself 
that  the  Turks  are  waging  an  unjust  war,  and  that  treachery 
is  their  favorite  weapon.  It  is  my  firm  conviction  that  we 
shall  ultimately  succeed  in  vanquishing  and  driving  them 
from  the  country ;  but  to  do  this  we  need  strong  men  and 
heroic  hearts.  I  cannot  consent  to  their  possession  of  such  a 
man  as  yourself.  Come  to  us,  Mohammed  Ali !  You  shall  be 
our  first  and  greatest !  What  Mourad  Bey  was  for  us,  that 
shall  Mohammed  Ali  be  for  the  Mamelukes.  We  will  bow 
to  your  wisdom  in  humility  !  we  will  obey  all  your  com- 
mands !  Be  one  of  us,  Mohammed  Ali.  Join  us,  and  we  will 
vanquish  the  Turks  and  reoccupy  Cairo!  You  shall  be 
enthroned  in  the  citadel  as  our  chieftain;  you  shall  rule  over 
Cairo  and  be  our  brother  and  comrade.  Abandon  the  Turks ! 
Now,  Mohammed  Ali,  I  have  finished.  Give  me  an  answer  ! " 

His  eager  gaze  was  fastened  on  Mohammed's  proud,  tran- 
quil countenance  in  breathless  suspense.  The  latter  mak- 
ing no  reply,  Bardissi  repeated,  in  tones  of  entreaty  almost, 
"  Answer  me,  Mohammed  Ali  I" 

''Do  you  really  suppose  I  can  answer  you  ?"  said  Moham- 
med, gently.  "  Look  at  me ;  I  wear  the  uniform  of  a  Turkish 
general,  and  am  in  the  grand-sultan's,  and,  more  immediately, 
in  Cousrouf  Pacha,  the  viceroy's  service.  I  am  a  soldier,  who, 
wearing  his  uniform,  must  ever  be  mindful  that  he  has  sworn 
the  oath  of  fidelity.  Moreover,  I  am  your  prisoner.  Do  you 


344  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   H")USE. 

suppose  it  would  beseem  the  soldier  to  treat  with  his  enemy 
against  his  commander-in-chief  ?  Would  it,  do  you  think,  be- 
come the  prisoner  to  accept  the  proposals  of  him  who  for  the 
moment  is  his  master;  would  it  not  look  as  though  the  pris- 
oner wished  in  this  manner  to  purchase  his  freedom  ?  And 
now  answer  me,  Bardissi  ! " 

"This  is  my  answer,"  said  Bardissi,  bowing  his  head  with 
a  smile :  "  You  are  free,  and  no  longer  a  prisoner.  You  were 
entrapped,  and  brought  here,  because  I  wished  to  speak  with 
you.  This  I  have  done,  and  now  you  are  free.  And  now 
your  decision,  if  you  please!" 

"  Osman  Bey  Bardissi  is  far  too  great  a  hero,  and  far  too 
brave  a  soldier  and  honorable  man,  not  to  know  what  emotions 
agitate  my  soul.  See,  I  wear  a  general's  uniform,  and  my 
army  corps  is  awaiting  me !  You  cannot  suppose  that  I  will 
abandon  them,  or  incite  them  to  treason !  As  yet,  I  serve  the 
viceroy  alone,"  he  continued  in  a  lower  voice,  "  and,  as  yet,  I 
do  not  know  that  I  can  depend  entirely  on  their  fidelity." 

"  However,  you  do  not  say  'no1  to  my  proposals?"  said 
Bardissi. 

u  I  say  wait,  Bardissi !  He  who  wishes  to  attain  fortune 
must  not  grasp  at  it  with  too  quick  a  hand.  He  may  catch 
hold  of  a  corner  of  its  mantle,  but  fortune  itself  might  escape 
him.  Only  he  who  is  calm  and  collected  can  depend  on  secur- 
ing it,  Bardissi.  Therefore,  I  say,  wait !  Yet,  this  will  I  say, 
in  addition,"  continued  he,  his  countenance  assuming  a  milder 
expression,  "  Give  me  your  hand  before  we  part.  It  is  the 
hand  of  a  brave  man,  and  I  am  glad  to  press  it  in  my  own." 

Bardissi  joyously  laid  his  broad,  sinewy  hand  in  Moham- 
med's, and  grasped  it  firmly. 

"  I  repeat  it,  Bardissi,  wait.  In  eight  days  you  shall  have 
an  answer  from  me.  Perhaps  it  will  be  communicated  to  you 
through  common  report — perhaps  secretly.  Therefore,  name 
some  one  through  whom  I  can  communicate  with  you." 

Bardissi  made  no  answer,  but  glanced  uneasily  at  Moham- 
med. The  latter  smiled. 

"You  are  suspicious;  you  have  already  experienced  too 
much  treachery  from  your  enemies  not  to  fear  Mohammed 
Ali  might  prove  like  the  rest.  I  require  no  answer.  In  case 


THE  AGREEMENT.  345 

of  necessity,  I  will  send  you  an  answer  through  Mourad's 
widow,  Sitta  Nefysseh." 

"  She  is  our  mistress,  and  we  all  reverence  and  obey  her  as 
we  should,  the  widow  of  our  great  chieftain." 

"  I  know  you  all  honor  and  love  her  ! "  said  Mohammed, 
with  a  slight  smite.  "  May  I  now  depart  ? " 

Bardissi  inclined  his  head.  "  You  are  free !  I  shall  ride 
on  in  advance,  and  deprive  myself  of  the  pleasure  of  accom- 
panying you  through  the  desert.  We  might  be  seen  together, 
and  suspicion  excited  against  you.  I  ride  in  that  direction. 
The  dromedary  will  bear  you  back  to  your  camp  by  a  shorter 
route  across  the  desert.  She  who  brought  you  here  will  also 
accompany  you  back.  She  knows  the  way,  and  is  discreet 
and  cautious,  like  her  father.  My  horse  and  servants  await 
me  behind  that  hill.  And  now  let  us  part ! " 

"  Let  us  part  !  "  repeated  Mohammed,  extending  his  hand 
for  a  parting  grasp. 

"  I  will  accompany  you  to  the  tent,"  said  Bardissi,  "  and 
give  orders  to  have  the  dromedary  saddled  for  you  while  you 
are  strengthening  yourself  for  the  ride." 

They  walked  to  the  tent  side  by  side,  and  Bardissi  called 
the  sheik,  and  gave  him  his  instructions. 

Mohammed  entered  the  tent.  No  one  was  there.  He 
walked  into  the  inner  apartment,  and  so  noiselessly  that  his 
step  was  not  heard  by  her  who  stood  behind  the  partition,  by 
Butheita.  She  stood  there,  her  head  bowed  down,  and  her 
gaze  fixed  on  the  spot  where  she  had  broken  bread  with  Mo- 
hammed. Now,  hearing  her  name  murmured  behind  her, 
she  started  and  turned  around.  He  observed  that  her  manner 
was  sad,  and  that  the  smile  had  departed  from  her  lips. 

"You  are  sad,  Butheita,"  whispered  he,  approaching 
her. 

She  cast  down  her  eyes  before  his  glance.  "You  are 
going  away,"  said  she.  "  Father  is  already  saddling  the 
dromedary,  and  you  are  about  to  leave  us." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  he,  gently.     "  Duty  calls  me  away,  while 
love  would  gladly  hold  me  back.     But  I  am  a  man,  and  must 
listen  to  the  voice  of  duty  only.     They  say  you  are  to  accom- 
pany, and  show  me  the  way  ? " 
23 


346  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

She  shook  her  head  resolutely.  "  I  beg  you,  say  that  you 
do  not  wish  it,  that  you  desire  my  father  to  accompany 
you." 

"  And  why  should  I  do  so  ? "  asked  he,  gazing  searchingly 
into  her  countenance.  "  Do  you  hate  me  so  that  you  are  un- 
willing to  pass  an  hour  in  my  company  ?  Did  I  conduct  my- 
self unbecomingly  while  we  were  together  in  the  palanquin 
this  morning  ?  Why  will  you  not  accord  me  the  happiness  of 
riding  across  the  desert  with  you  again  ?  Why  do  you  hate 
me?" 

She  remained  silent  for  a  while,  and  then  slowly  shook  her 
head.  ''  No,  it  is  not  that ;  it  is  something  quite  different.  It 
pains  me  to  see  you  leave.  This  morning,  I  could  ride  with 
you  across  the  desert ;  then  I  did  not  know  you,  and  did  not 
fear  you." 

"  And  now  you  are  afraid  of  me  ? "  said  he,  gazing  in  her 
eyes  intently. 

"  No,  not  afraid  of  you,  but  afraid  of  myself,''  said  she,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  am  afraid  I  might  love  you  ;  and  that  may  not 
be,"  cried  she,  in  a  firmer  tone.  "  You  are  a  great  and  distin- 
guished man,  and  would  laugh  at  the  poor  Bedouin  child  if 
she  should  regard  you  otherwise  than  as  a  great  sarechsme,  who 
had  condescended  to  honor  her  father's  tent  by  accepting  his 
daughter's  hospitality.  I  had  best  not  ride  with  you.  And  I 
have  already  told  father  so." 

''  And  the  reason,  too,  Butheita  ? ''  said  he,  smiling. 

"  No,  sarechsme  !  I  told  father  I  was  weary  with  my  long 
ride.  He  loves  me  dearly,  and,  although  he  had  intended  re- 
turning with  the  bey  to  collect  the  spoils  from  the  field,  he  is, 
nevertheless,  ready  to  accompany  you  if  you  will  permit 
him." 

"  I  am  to  permit  you  to  cause  me  pain,  and  deny  myself  a 
great  happiness,  Butheita.  Yet,  I  understand  you,  and  must 
say  that  I  rejoice  to  see  you  act  as  you  do.  I  rejoice  in  you, 
my  star-eyed  desert  queen  !  Be  assured.  Mohammed  Ali  will 
never  forget  you.  And  now,  tell  me,  will  you  not  quite  for- 
get me  either  ? " 

"  No,  that  I  will  not,  sarechsme." 

''Will  you  also  be  mindful  of  your  promise  to  your  father 


THE  AGREEMENT.  347 

to  allow  him  only  to  kiss  you,  who  shall  one  day  lead  you  to 
his  home  ? " 

''I  shall  ever  be  mindful  of  this  promise." 

"  Then,  Butheita,  then  will  I  kiss  you,"  cried  he,  and  with 
passionate  violence  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  a 
kiss  on  her  lips.  He  then  turned  and  left  the  tent. 

Butheita  sank  down  upon  the  mat,  and  with  outstretched 
arms  she  knelt  there,  motionless,  a  statue  of  ecstasy,  of  blissful 
love. 

Mohammed  stepped  out  before  the  tent,  and  beckoned  to 
the  sheik  to  approach. 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  accompany  me,  sheik  ;  it  will  be  too 
fatiguing  for  your  daughter  to  take  this  ride  the  second  time." 

"  Gladly,  master  ;  she  has  already  told  me  so  herself,  and  I 
am  ready,"  said  he,  commanding  the  dromedary  to  kneel 
down.  Mohammed  sprang  into  the  palanquin,  and  the  sheik 
followed  him. 

"  Farewell,  Butheita,"  he  cried.  She  did  not  answer  ;  she 
did  not  wish  to  go  out,  as  he  might  see  her  tears,  and  her 
father,  too,  might  observe  them.  She  therefore  remained 
silent.  She  had  drawn  the  curtain  over  the  entrance  to  the 
inner  apartment,  and  lay  on  the  mat  weeping  ;  weeping  and 
laughing  at  the  same  time,  for  joy  and  pain — ecstasy  and  pain 
were  contending  for  victory  in  her  heart.  "  He  is  gone,  gone  ! 
and  yet  he  is  ever  with  me." 

The  dromedary  flew  over  the  desert  still  more  swiftly  than 
in  the  morning,  his  feet  hardly  touching  the  ground  ;  clouds 
of  sand  were  whirled  aloft,  and  enveloped  the  animal  and -the 
riders  as  with  a  thick  veil.  No  one  saw  them,  and,  had  any 
one  seen  them,  he  could  not  have  told  who  they  were. 

Arrived  at  the  boundary  line  of  the  desert,  where  two 
horses  awaited  them,  the  sheik  halted.  Having  dismounted 
with  Mohammed,  he  addressed  a  few  loud  words  to  the  drome- 
dary ;  it  turned,  and  flew  homeward  across  the  desert. 

"  It  knows  the  way,"  said  the  sheik,  smiling.  "  It  will  re- 
turn alone  to  Butheita." 

They  mounted  the  horses,  and  rode  on  swiftly  through 
meadows,  and  palm  and  sycamore  groves. 

The  sheik  now  drew  rein.     "  Do  you  see  that  black  line 


348  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

standing  out  against  the  evening  sky  ?  That  is  your  camp. 
If  you  desire  it,  I  will  accompany  you  farther.  It  rests  with 
you  to  decide." 

"  I  will  ride  on  alone,  sheik.  Farewell,  and  accept  this  for 
your  hospitality." 

He  held  out  to  the  sheik  a  purse  filled  with  gold-pieces. 
The  latter  proudly  rejected  it. 

"  With  one  breath  you  say  things  that  do  not  agree  with 
each  other.  You  wish  to  pay  me,  and  yet  you  say  you  have 
enjoyed  my  hospitality.  The  guest  does  not  pay,  unless  it  be 
with  love  and  friendship.  If  you  pay  me  in  that  way,  I  shall 
rejoice,  and  Butheita  also,  I  know." 

"  O  sheik,  I  thank  you  both  for  your  hospitality,  aud  will 
love  you  and  hold  you  in  good  remembrance.  Farewell, 
sheik  ! " 

He  pressed  his  knees  to  his  horse's  flanks  and  rode  off  in  a 
rapid  gallop.  Evening  had  already  sunk  down  when  he  ap- 
proached the  plain  where  his  soldiers  lay  encamped.  He  dis- 
mounted, and  left  his  horse  to  return  alone.  He  then  glided 
stealthily  to  the  rear  of  his  tent,  and,  raising  the  canvas, 
slipped  in.  No  one  was  in  this  apartment  where  his  couch  lay, 
but  in  the  first  one  he  heard  loud  voices.  His  officers  were 
speaking  of  him.  They  were  making  anxious  inquiries  and 
conjectures  as  to  where  the  general  might  be,  and  were  con- 
sidering whether  they  should  make  further  search  for  him  or 
break  up  camp  and  return  to  Cairo.  They  were  the  voices  of 
his  bim  bashis  and  boulouk  bashis.  Smiling,  he  listened  for 
a  time  to  their  conversation.  He  then  drew  back  the  curtain 
and  stepped  into  the  outer  apartment.  A  joyous  shout  greeted 
his  entrance.  They  eagerly  rushed  forward,  and  anxiously 
inquired  where  he  had  been,  the  meaning  of  his  absence,  and 
if  any  evil  had  befallen  him. 

He  gazed  at  them  haughtily. 

"  Am  I,  the  general,  to  be  called  to  account  by  you,  my 
officers  ? " 

They  instantly  ceased  speaking,  and  saluted  him  with  pro- 
found obeisance. 

"  I  know,"  continued  he,  in  milder  tones,  "  that  sympathy 
for  me  prompted  your  inquiries,  and  will  therefore  tell  you 


THE  AGREEMENT.  349 

where  I  have  been.  I  rode  last  night,  entirely  alone,  to  Da- 
manhour,  where  I  knew  Youssouf  Bey  lay  with  his  men.  I 
wished  to  learn  if  we  could  reach  them  in  time,  and  therefore 
rode  with  the  wings  of  the  wind.  When  I  reached  their 
camp,  the  battle  had  already  begun.  It  was  too  late  to  march 
to  Youssouf  Bey's  assistance.  I  therefore  did  what  I  could, 
drew  my  sword  and  fought  in  the  ranks  as  a  common  soldier. 
The  day  was  adverse  ;  the  Turkish  army  lies  defeated  on  the 
plain  of  Damanhour  !  Now  let  us  remain  here  and  wait.  If 
the  victors,  the  Mameluke  beys,  feel  disposed  to  try  their  for- 
tune in  another  battle,  by  Allah  they  shall  find  us  ready  to  re- 
ceive them  !  But,  if  they  do  not  show  themselves  by  to-mor- 
row, we  will  turn  and  march  back  to  Cairo.  Now  go  and  an- 
nounce to  the  soldiers  what  has  taken  place." 

They  bowed  profoundly,  and  the  deference  and  silence 
with  which  they  now  left  the  tent  were  in  marked  contrast 
with  their  previous  noisy  behavior.  The  general  knew  how 
to  impress  them  with  a  sense  of  his  superiority  ;  they  all  rec- 
ognized in  him  a  great  man,  and  felt  his  iron  hand  on  their 
necks.  All  now  grows  still  in  the  camp.  The  soldiers  retire 
to  rest,  and  Mohammed  also  sinks  down  on  his  mat  to  repose, 
and,  if  possible,  to  sleep  after  so  much  fatigue  and  excitement. 

But  sleep  refused  to  come  at  his  bidding.  He  arose  and 
walked  to  and  fro  in  his  tent  for  a  long  time.  At  first  he  was 
merely  the  loving  man,  and  beheld  only  Butheita's  counte- 
nance ;  but  the  hero  in  him  soon  gained  the  upper  hand. 
Mohammed  profoundly  considered  Osman  Bey's  words,  and 
how  he  must  shape  his  future.  His  keen  vision  had  observed 
and  made  him  acquainted  with  the  men  who  surrounded  him, 
and  with  the  relations  to  which  he  must  now  either  conform 
or  against  which  he  must  now  rise  in  arms.  He  had  been  in 
a  state  of  doubt  and  hesitation  all  along  ;  his  future  was  en- 
veloped in  a  thick  veil,  and  he  was  not  aware  what  shape  his 
destiny  was  to  take  ;  yet  he  had  closely  observed  all.  He  had 
seen  that  poor  Egypt  was  a  plaything  of  ambition,  of  rapacity  ^ 
of  intrigue — a  prey  for  all.  Nowhere  in  the  midst  of  this  reign 
of  intrigue  and  passion  had  he  seen  law  and  justice  prevail. 
He  saw  only  a  province  trodden  under  foot,  a  bleeding  land, 
that  must  perish  in  its  citizens,  unless  a  deliverer  should  come 


350  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

who  knew  how  to  bind  up  and  heal  its  wounds.  Could  he  be 
its  deliverer  ?  Was  it  his  mission  to  raise  up  the  down-trod- 
den people  from  the  dust,  to  erect  for  himself  a  throne  upon 
the  ground  that  smoked  with  the  blood  of  so  many  victims  ? 
Was  this  his  mission,  and  was  there  a  way  that  would  lead 
him  up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  throne  ?  All  this  he  considered 
earnestly  and  profoundly  throughout  the  entire  night,  and, 
when  the  rising  sun  had  dispelled  the  clouds  of  the  morning, 
it  was  clear,  too,  in  his  soul.  He  saw  the  way  he  must  go  to 
reach  his  goal. 

"  And  this  way  I  will  go,"  said  he  to  himself,  in  low  tones. 
"  I  will  consider  nothing  but  my  interest  and  my  aim.  I  will 
avail  myself  of  all  means  that  are  useful.  Wise,  shrewd, 
cautious,  using  every  thing,  and  recoiling  from  nothing,  let 
this  be  the  motto  of  my  immediate  future  :  '  To  overthrow 
the  enemy  by  rebellion  were  unwise  ;  he  who  usurps  another's 
place  is  always  a  rebel,  and  deserving  of  punishment.'  I  must 
be  called  to  the  throne  by  the  people  themselves,  then  I  shall 
be  a  legitimate  ruler.  To  attain  this  be  your  task,  Mohammed 
Ali.  Equip  yourself  and  collect  your  energies.  Be  the  lion 
and  the  tiger,  the  serpent  and  the  hero  :  in  this  way  only  can 
you  accomplish  your  end  " 

Early  on  the  following  morning  the  videttes  announced  to 
the  sarechsme  that  no  trace  of  the  enemy  was  anywhere  to  be 
seen. 

"  Then  we  shall  return  to  Cairo,"  said  the  sarechsme  to  his 
bim  bashis  ;  "give  orders  to  prepare  to  march." 

The  loud  shouts  of  joy  that  resounded  without  announced 
to  the  sarechsme  that  the  soldiers  were  wrell  pleased  to  return 
home.  "  I  am,  too  1 "  said  he  to  himself,  smiling.  "  I  am  well 
pleased  that  we  are  not  compelled  to  confront  the  Mamelukes  ! 
Perhaps  we  shall  soon  be  fighting  side  by  side  ! " 

In  the  mean  while  intelligence  of  the  defeat  of  the  Turkish 
army  had  reached  Cairo.  Many  had  heard  it  with  intense 
satisfaction,  many  with  sorrow,  according  to  whether  they 
were  friends  or  enemies  of  the  viceroy. 

Yet,  when  Mohammed  Ali's  troops  marched  through  the 
streets,  they  were  greeted  with  shouts  of  joy.  They  returned, 
as  the  sarechsme  had  ordered,  quietly  to  their  barracks. 


THE  AGREEMENT.  351 

Mohammed  All  also  repaired  to  his  house  to  rest  and  to 
wait. 

In  the  mean  while  the  remnant  of  the  defeated  army  had 
also  returned  to  Cairo  ;  and  Youssouf  Bey,  who  had  succeeded 
in  making  his  escape  from  the  slaughter,  repaired,  at  the  very 
hour  when  Mohammed  entered  the  city  with  his  troops  to  the 
citadel,  to  the  viceroy.  With  furious  despair  and  tears  of 
rage,  he  told  the  story  of  his  terrible  defeat,  thinking  by  this 
display  of  anguish  to  wash  his  hands  of  the  disgrace  of  having 
been  vanquished  with  three  thousand  Turks  by  eight  hundred 
Mamelukes  !  But,  as  though  the  number  of  his  troops  ought 
not  to  have  been  sufficient  to  insure  victory  over  the  small 
force  of  the  Mamelukes,  he  sought  to  throw  the  hlame  on 
others. 

"  I  was  betrayed — betrayed  !  Mohammed  Ali  and  Taher 
Pacha  are  to  blame  for  this  disaster.  They  should  have  come 
to  my  assistance,  but  they  left  me  to  shift  for  myself.  That  is 
infamous  conduct  !  Here,  before  your  throne,  I  accuse  of 
treason,  above  all,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  also  Taher  Pacha  ! 
They  knew  I  was  in  danger  :  had  they  come  up,  I  should  not 
have  lost  the  battle  ;  but  they  did  not  come,  because  they  de- 
sired my  downfall,  in  order  that  they  might  ascend  to  the 
height  of  your  favor  over  my  neck  !  They  are  both  traitors. 
I  entreat  you  to  cause  searching  inquiries  to  be  made,  and  to 
hold  to  a  strict  accountability  those  who  so  shamefully  de- 
serted me." 

Cousrouf  Pacha  felt  deeply  touched  by  the  anguish  and 
despair  of  his  favorite,  and  perhaps  he  also  felt  a  foreboding 
rise  in  his  heart  that  Mohammed  Ali  was  still  his  enemy,  and 
was  seeking  revenge  for  his  long-since-destroyed  happiness. 

"  You  are  right,  Youssouf  Bey.  I  promise  you  strict  in- 
vestigation shall  be  made,  and  woe  to  them  if  they  fail  to 
justify  themselves  ! " 

A  messenger  entered  to  announce  to  the  viceroy  that  Mo- 
hammed Ali  had  returned  to  Cairo  with  his  troops.  The 
viceroy  immediately  dispatched  a  messenger  to  the  sarechsme, 
ordering  him  to  come  up  to  the  citadel  at  once,  and  without 
any  delay  whatever,  to  render  account  to  the  viceroy  of  his 
action. 


352  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

Mohammed  heard  the  command  with  perfect  composure. 
"  Tell  the  viceroy  that  I  will  come  up  to  the  citadel  to-mor- 
row, in  the  broad  light  of  day,  with  my  soldiers.  My  weary 
troops  must  rest  to-night,  and  without  them  I  do  not  desire  to 
appear  before  your  master.  Therefore,  to-morrow  morning, 
rest  assured  that  I  shall  come." 

As  he  had  said,  in  the  broad  light  of  day,  and  accompanied 
by  his  soldiers,  the  sarechsme  repaired  to  the  citadel.  An 
ominous  cry  resounded  from  their  lips  as  they  stood  before 
the  gateway,  and  this  cry  was  heard  in  the  apartment  of  the 
viceroy. 

"  We  demand  our  pay  !  We  want  bread,  we  want  money  ! " 
This  was  the  soldiers'  cry.  Now,  surrounded  by  his  bim  bashis 
and  boulouk  bashis,  the  sarechsme  entered  the  apartment  of 
the  viceroy,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  who  was  awaiting  him.  In  utter 
disregard  of  deference  and  usage,  the  general  did  not  wait  to 
be  addressed  by  the  viceroy.  With  a  military  greeting,  he 
stepped  forward  and  said,  in  a  loud  voice  : 

"  As  you  hear,  highness,  your  troops  have  come  to  demand 
of  .you  that  to  which  they  have  assuredly  long  been  entitled — 
they  have  come  to  demand  their  pay  ! " 

''  I  see,"  said  Cousrouf,  in  low  tones,  casting  a  furtive  glance 
of  hatred  at  Mohammed — "  I  see  that  you  are  still  the  insolent 
boy  of  Cavalla  ! " 

"  I  believe,"  replied  Mohammed,  also  speaking  in  subdued 
tones — "  I  believe  we  are  both  what  we  then  were  ;  and  I  shall 
prove  it  to  you  ! " 

He  stepped  back.  No  one  had  heard  the  brief  conversation 
that  passed  between  them,  but  every  one  saw  Cousrouf 's  cheek 
grow  pale,  and  his  eye  sparkle  with  anger. 

''  I  will  send  you  an  answer,"  said  he,  after  a  pause.  "  Re- 
turn to  your  house,  and  order  the  soldiers  to  return  to  their 
barracks.  My  defterdar  will  bring  you  an  answer." 

He  turned  and  left  the  apartment. 

"  Well,  for  this  time  we  will  be  patient  and  wait,"  said  Mo- 
hammed, addressing  his  officers. 

His  voice  was  threatening,  and  his  officers  understood  that 
their  general  was  prepared  to  resort  to  extreme  measures,  and 
they  rejoiced  over  it,  for  the  viceroy  was  always  haughty  and 


THE   REVOLT.  353 

overbearing  in  his  manner  toward  them,  and  they  all  hated 
him.  They  would  all  have  been  pleased  to  see  their  bold  gen- 
eral revolt  against  him. 

"  "We  will  wait,"  they  whispered  to  each  other — "  we  will 
wait !  What  our  sarechsme  does,  we  will  do  also  ! " 

They  returned,  in  obedience  to  his  command,  to  their  quar- 
ters and  barracks. 

The  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  a  peculiar  smile  on  his  lips, 
also  returned  to  his  palace. 

"The  decisive  hour  approaches  !  Cousrouf  Pacha  shall  be 
convinced  that  I,  as  he  says,  am  still  the  same  Mohammed  Ali 
I  was  at  Ca valla  !  Yes,  still  the  same,  and  still  determined  to 
have  revenge  ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  REVOLT. 

To  have  gained  a  week  is  to  have  gained  a  great  deal. 

Within  this  time  the  viceroy  will  succeed  in  replenishing 
his  coffers.  His  defterdar  is  very  skillful  in  the  art  of  getting 
money,  and  who  should  understand  the  art  if  not  the  minister 
of  finance  ?  He  will  find  means  to  collect  from  the  ulemas, 
from  the  rich  sheiks,  and  from  the  merchants,  money  enough 
to  quiet  his  rebellious  troops.  A  week  is  a  long  period,  and  he 
will  find  means  to  satisfy  them  all. 

But,  after  a  few  days,  the  terrible  intelligence  reaches 
Cousrouf  Pacha  :  Taher  Pacha  is  defeated  ;  the  stronghold 
Migne  has  been  captured  by  the  Mameluke  beys.  Taher 
Pacha  is  defeated,  and  is  returning  with  his  army-corps  to 
Cairo  ! 

"He  shall  not  come,  he  must  not  come  ! "  cried  the  viceroy, 
angrily.  "  No,  he  must  not  come  ;  as  it  is,  we  have  rebellious 
soldiers  enough  here  now.  They  would  unite  with  Taher's 
troops,  and  clamor  for  pay  again.  And  our  coffers  are  empty. 
Send  messengers  to  meet  the  advancing  troops,  with  instruc- 
tions to  General  Taher  to  march  with  his  corps  to  Tantah,  and 
there  await  further  orders.  In  any  case,  I  forbid  him  to  re- 


354:  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

turn  here  to  Cairo.  Is  my  capital  to  be  made  a  camp  ?  Is  it 
merely  an  immense  barrack  in  which  these  insolent  fellows 
are  to  puff  themselves  up  and  do  violence  to  all  honest  and 
respectable  people  ?  It  is  enough  to  have  to  tolerate  Moham- 
med Ali  and  his  men  here.  Taher  Pacha  shall  not  unite  with 
them.  Quick,  dispatch  the  messengers  at  once  ! " 

The  messengers,  in  accordance  with  the  viceroy's  instruc- 
tions, hastened  forth  in  the  direction  from  which  Taher 
must  come.  But  the  messengers  did  not  meet  him.  He 
did  not  come  by  the  expected  route.  He  had  taken  an- 
other— a  secret  messenger  having  come  to  him  with  this 
warning : 

''  Hasten  forward,  Taher — you  are  to  be  kept  at  a  distance 
from  the  capitol !  It  is  intended  to  withhold  their  pay  from 
your  soldiers  ! " 

He  did  not  know  from  whom  this  messenger  came,  but  he 
believed  him.  Resolved  not  to  remain  where  a  message  from 
the  viceroy  could  reach  him,  Taher  Pacha  took  another  road, 
and,  before  another  messenger  could  reach  him,  Taher  entered 
Cairo  with  his  army.  The  uproar  in  the  streets,  the  shouting 
of  the  soldiers  as  they  greeted  their  friends,  announced  to  the 
viceroy  what  had  taken  place.  And  in  great  wrath  he  learned 
from  the  defterdar,  who  came  running  to  the  viceroy  in  de- 
spair, that  his  fears  were  only  too  well  founded. 

Yes,  it  was  as  he  expected.  The  soldiers  had  not  gone  to  their 
barracks  ;  Taher  had  not  come  to  seek  repose  in  his  house,  but 
to  demand  his  and  his  soldiers'  pay.  "  We  are  in  rags,  and 
starving  ;  we  need  shoes  and  clothes.  Give  us  our  pay,  that 
we  may  satisfy  our  hunger  and  clothe  ourselves  ! " 

"  But  how  am  I  to  pay  them  ? "  said  the  defterdar,  addressing 
the  viceroy  in  anxious  tones.  "  Our  coffers  are  empty,  and 
,°ll  resources  exhausted.  I  know  not  what  to  do  or  where  to 
turn.'' 

The  viceroy  sat  gazing  at  him  gloomily.  Suddenly  a 
thought  seemed  to  occur  to  him  ;  his  countenance  brightened. 
"Mohammed  Ali  is  shrewd  and  fertile  in  resources.  We 
must  apply  to  him.  He  will  help  us  out  of  our  difficulty.  He 
is  thoughtful,  cool,  and  resolute.  True,  he  assumed  a  hostile 
attitude  toward  me  a  few  days  ago,  but  he  must  be  reconciled. 


THE   REVOLT.  355 

He  must  be  prevented  from  uniting  with  Taher.  The  two 
united  would  be  a  fearful  combination  against  me. " 

He  instructs  the  defterdar  to  go  in  person  to  Mohammed 
Ali  to  request  him  to  come  to  the  viceroy.  ''  We  cannot  pay 
the  troops,  but  we  can  find  enough  to  pay  the  general's 
salary." 

Cousrouf  Pacha  takes  from  his  own  private  funds  ten 
purses  of  gold-pieces.  He  carries  them  himself  to  the  apart- 
ment in  which  he  intends  to  receive  the  sarechsme. 

In  the  mean  while  the  minister  of  finance  had,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  viceroy's  instructions,  repaired  with  great  haste 
to  the  palace  in  which  the  sarechsme  resided.  A  body  of  Al- 
banian soldiers  were  encamped  about  the  palace.  They  called 
themselves  the  body-guard  of  the  sarechsme.  The  heart  of  the 
finance  minister  throbbed  with  dismay  when  he  beheld  their 
daring,  resolute  faces. 

"  If  this  is  the  sarechsme's  body-guard,  then  woe  to  the 
viceroy ! "  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  ascended  the  stairway 
that  led  to  the  general's  apartment.  With  a  trembling  voice 
and  humble  demeanor,  he  delivered  the  viceroy's  message  to 
the  general. 

<%  He  begs  you  to  come  to  him.  He  wishes  to  be  reconciled 
to  you  ;  he  will  himself  hand  you  the  arrearages  of  pay.  But 
I  entreat  you,  come  without  your  great  suite— it  might  be 
wrongly  interpreted.  I  mean  well  with  you  ;  I  am  your 
friend.  Do  not  come  with  your  body-guard,  sarechsme." 

"  We  two  should  understand  each  other  better,"  replied 
Mohammed,  smiling  derisively.  "  You  tremble  for  me.  I 
thank  you,  but  see,  I  am  not  trembling  at  all  myself.  He 
who  pursues  an  honest  course  and  is  faithful  to  his  master  and 
his  service,  has  no  occSsion  to  tremble.  This  you  shall  see, 
for  I  intend  to  go  to  the  viceroy  entirely  alone.  Only  my 
men  shall  at  least  know  where  I  have  gone,  that  is  all. 
Come  ! " 

With  a  haughty  smile,  the  defterdar  following,  he  de- 
scended the  broad  stairway  of  his  palace,  and  cordially  greeted 
the  soldiers  standing  about  the  gateway,  who  received  him 
with  shouts  of  joy. 

"Be  patient,  my  friends,  I  entreat  you,  be  patient,  and 


356  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

await  my  return.  I  will  return  in  an  hour  ;  wait  here  for 
me  that  long.  Should  I  not  return  by  that  time,  seek  me." 

The  defterdar,  who  hears  every  word  of  this,  murmurs  to 
himself  :  "  It  will  be  necessary  to  acquaint  his  highness  with 
this,  that  he  may  be  on  his  guard,  and  not  detain  the  sa- 
rechsme  in  his  fortress  too  long.  The  consequences  might  be 
dangerous/' 

In  humble  terms  he  begs  to  be  permitted  to  hasten  in  ad- 
vance to  announce  his  coming  to  the  viceroy.  The  sarechsme 
assents  with  a  gracious  inclination  of  the  head,  and  smiles  be- 
nignantly  on  the  finance  minister. 

"We  understand  each  other  right  well,  my  good  defter- 
dar. You  are  right ;  go  in  advance,  and  announce  me  to  the 
viceroy." 

He  waited  a  short  time  in  the  court-yard,  conversing  with 
the  soldiers  who  gathered  around  him  to  complain  of  their 
wrongs. 

"I  am  going  up  to  the  citadel  to  the  viceroy,  in  your 
interests.  Wait  patiently  for  an  entire  hour,"  repeated  Mo- 
hammed. 

He  then  mounts  his  horse  and  rides  up  to  the  citadel.  The 
defterdar  has  hardly  had  time  to  convey  the  warning  to  the 
viceroy  : 

"Do  not  detain  him  here  too  long,  highness.  If  he  re- 
mains here  longer  than  an  hour,  his  soldiers  will  come  up 
here  after  him  in  open  revolt.  Taher's  troops  have  not  gone 
to  their  barracks,  and  are  only  awaiting  the  signal  to  join 
them." 

Cousrouf  nodded  his  assent,  and  muttered  to  himself  :  "  I 
was  wrong  in  not  treading  this  viper  under  foot  in  Cavalla  ; 
now  it  intends  to  bite  me — I  feel  it,  it  intends  to  bite  me  ;  but 
it  shall  not.  I  will  draw  its  fangs." 

His  Nubian  slave  now  enters  and  announces  to  his  master 
that  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  stands  without,  awaiting 
his  pleasure.  Cousrouf's  countenance  quickly  assumes  a 
friendly  expression. 

"  Leave  me,  defterdar,  and  await  me  in  the  next  room.  I 
shall  not  detain  the  sarechsme  long." 

The  defterdar  withdrew,  and  the  Nubian  slave  opened  the 


THE  REVOLT.  357 

door  to  admit  the  general.  With  a  military  greeting,  Mo- 
hammed Ali  entered,  and  advanced  toward  the  viceroy,  who, 
on  this  occasion,  received  him  standing,  and  not  indolently 
reclining  on  his  cushions,  as  was  his  habit ;  he  even  stepped 
forward  to  meet  him,  extending  his  hand,  and  saluting  more 
cordially  than  usual. 

"  Sarechsme,  when  we  last  met,  it  was  in  anger.  This  I 
have  deeply  regretted,  for  you  know  what  I  think  of  you." 

"  Yes,  highness,  I  know  what  you  think  of  me,*"  replied 
Mohammed,  quietly. 

The  viceroy  saw  the  derisive  smile  that  played  about  his 
lips. 

"  I  think  well  of  you,  Mohammed  !  I  expect  great  things 
of  you,  and  know  that  you  are  the  truest  and  most  devoted  of 
my  servants." 

Mohammed  looked  up  at  him  with  a  strange,  inquiring 
glance.  "  Of  your  servants,  highness  ?  I  did  not  know  that 
I  was  one  of  them.  I  am  devoted  to  you,  as  the  general  of 
the  viceroy's  troops  should  be,  yet  both  of  us  are  the  servants 
of  our  master,  the  grand-sultan,  at  Stamboul." 

u  You  are  right,  both  of  us  are  servants,  the  grand-sultan 
is  master  of  us  both  ;  but  I  am  his  representative  here,  and  it 
therefore  follows  that  the  proud  sarechsme  need  not  blush 
when  I  call  him  my  faithful  servant,  as  I  stand  for  him  in  the 
place  of  the  grand-sultan.  And  it  is  because  you  recognize  in 
me  his  representative,  and  because  you  have  sworn  to  serve 
him  faithfully,  that  I  have  such  confidence  in  your  devotion 
to  me." 

"  Highness,  I  am  faithful  to  my  oath,  faithful  to  the  grand- 
sultan,  and  faithful  to  you.  I  deeply  regret  that  discord  has 
arisen  between  you  and  me,  ever  devoted  to  you  as  I  am.  But 
let  us  not  speak  of  this.  I  suppose  you  have  called  me  on  ac- 
count of  my  troops.  They  have  long  received  no  pay  ;  they 
are  without  food,  and  their  clothes  are  in  rags.  They  need 
and  demand  their  pay.  I,  as  their  protector  and  general, 
must  insist  on  your  compliance  with  their  just  demand." 

"  The  week  within  which  I  promised  to  pay  them  has  not 
yet  elapsed,  four  days  still  remain,"  said  Cousrouf,  suppressing 
his  rage  with  difficulty  ;  "  therefore  wait  for  your  soldiers' 


358  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

pay,  but  you,  Mohammed,  you  shall  not  wait.  See  how  I 
honor  and  esteem  you  !  There  lie  ten  purses  of  gold-pieces, 
that  is  your  salary.  I  joyously  give  it  you  out  of  my  own 
private  funds.  Take  your  pay,  my  sarechsme  ! " 

He  pointed  to  a  little  marble  table,  on  which  the  ten  purses, 
through  whose  meshes  the  gold-pieces  glittered,  were  laid  in  a 
row. 

"  I  accept  them,  highness.  It  is  my  salary,  and  I  am  justly 
entitled  to  it.  I  accept  them,  and,  though  you  only  gave  me 
my  due,  I  nevertheless  thank  you  for  having  done  so." 

"And  you  are  now  reconciled,  Mohammed  Ali,  and  no 
longer  angry?  "  said  Cousrouf,  in  flattering  tones. 

Mohammed  bowed  profoundly. 

"  How  could  I  presume  to  be  angry  with  your  gracious 
highness  ?  You  know  my  devotion  to  you,  Cousrouf." 

"  Prove  it  !  Give  me  your  advice.  You  know  the  coun- 
try, you  know  the  city ;  your  eye  is  quick,  and  you  observe 
much.  I  know  Mohammed  Ali  never  walks  indolently 
through  the  streets  ;  his  eye  sees  more  than  other  eyes,  his 
ear  hears  more  than  other  ears  ;  he  knows  far  more  than  any 
of  my  servants.  O  Mohammed,  if  many  of  them  were  like 
you,  I  need  not  be  anxious  and  pass  sleepless  nights.  But  you, 
Mohammed,  are  wise  and  shrewd,  and  have  much  experience 
and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Advise  me,  sarechsme,  as 
to  the  means  of  raising  money.  I  myself,  I  confess,  am 
at  a  loss  to  devise  new  means  of  replenishing  my  empty 
coffers." 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  high  honor  you  do  me,"  replied  Mo- 
hammed. "  Advise  you,  the  wise  and  experienced  statesman  ! 
How  flattering  such  a  privilege  to  me  !  Yet,  unfortunately,  I 
must  confess  that  I  know  not  what  to  advise.  But,"  he  sud- 
denly added,  "  one  thing  occurs  to  me.  You  have  taxed  the 
merchants,  you  have  taken  money  from  the  ulemas,  you  have 
exacted  it  from  the  sheiks  ;  but  one  thing  you  have  forgotten 
— to  tax  the  women,  highness  !  " 

"  The  women  !  "  said  Cousrouf,  recoiling  a  step.  "  How 
could  I  tax  the  women  ?  What  women  ? " 

"  The  wives  of  the  Mameluke  beys  ! ''  replied  Mohammed. 
"  You  were  gracious  enough,  highness,  to  permit  these  ladies 


THE   REVOLT.  359 

to  remain  here  in  their  palaces,  in  which  they  were  accustomed 
to  live  like  princesses." 

"  I  gave  my  word,  Mohammed  Ali,  that  the  wives  of  the 
Mameluke  beys  should  remain  here,  and  that  they  should  not 
be  molested.  I  gave  my  word.  I  did  it  because  I  knew  that 
the  people  would  suffer  if  the  rich  ladies,  whose  splendid  house- 
holds give  employment  and  food  to  so  many  people,  should 
be  banished  from  the  city.  I  did  it  for  this  reason,  and  must 
now  keep  my  word." 

"  And  they  shall  remain  here  unmolested,  highness.  Their 
liberty  is  not  to  be  curtailed,  neither  is  any  harm  to  be  done  to 
their  persons.  But  they  must  yield  to  necessity,  and  sur- 
render some  of  their  treasure.  Mourad  Bey's  widow  alone  is 
very  rich." 

"  Eich  and  courted  by  all  the  world  ! "  cried  Cousrouf 
Pacha.  "  All  Cairo  is  devoted  to  her  !  She  is  honored  like  a 
saint  almost." 

"  Because  she  is  rich,"  replied  Mohammed,  quietly.  "  The 
rich  are  always  honored  ;  the  world  falls  down  and  worships 
them  ;  but  let  them  become  poor,  and  the  world  drags  them 
into  the  dust,  and  thus  avenges  itself  for  its  former  humilia- 
tion. Sitta  Nefysseh,  Mourad's  widow,  is  rich.  Her  apart- 
ments, I  am  told,  glitter  with  golden  dishes  and  vases,  gold 
and  silver  coins  are  piled  up  in  closets,  and  whole  chests  are 
filled  with  jewelry  and  precious  stones  of  every  description, 
brought  home  by  Mourad  from  his  wars." 

The  viceroy's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  It  would  certainly  be  desirable  to  get  possession  of  some 
of  this  treasure,  yet  we  cannot  become  robbers.  If  we  could 
do  so  by  lawful  means,  it  would  be  well.  Tell  me  of  some 
such  means,  Mohammed  Ali." 

"I  know  of  no  such  means,  highness,"  said  Mohammed, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  I  only  know  that  Sitta  Nefysseh, 
as  it  is  said,  has  a  secret  understanding  with  the  beys,  the  com- 
rades of  her  deceased  husband.  As  I  understand  it,  you  only 
promised  the  wives  of  the  Mamelukes  permission  to  remain 
here,  and  protection  under  the  condition  that  they  were  to  ab- 
stain from  all  intercourse  with  the  Mameluke  beys.  Yet  it  is 
known  that  Osman  Bardissi  and  L'Elfi  Bey,  the  two  Mame- 


360  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

luke  chieftains,  were  not  long  since  in  Cairo,  and  that  they 
paid  the  Sitta  a  visit.  They  both  love  her.  They  adore  her, 
and  defy  every  danger  in  order  to  see  her.  Of  this  I  am  cer* 
tain,  highness." 

"  If  this  is  true,"  cried  Cousrouf,  "  I  have  some  pretext  for 
calling  her  to  account." 

"And  true  it  is,  I  assure  you,"  replied  Mohammed.  "I 
myself  saw  Bardissi  as  he  stepped  out  of  the  back  gate  of  the 
park  and  mounted  his  horse,  and  a  short  time  before  I  saw 
L'Elfl.  Perhaps  they  had  both  come  for  money  for  the  pay- 
ment of  their  troops." 

"  I  well  know,  myself,"  said  Cousrouf,  "  that  Mourad's 
widow  is  very  rich,  and  generous  to  her  friends.  I  will  see 
her  this  very  day,  and  this  very  day  shall  she  be  called  to  ac- 
count." 

"  But  by  whom  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  quickly.  "  The  cadi 
and  the  sheik  will  not  answer  ;  for  they,  like  all  Cairo,  love 
Sitta  Nefysseh." 

"  Then  I  will  call  her  to  account  myself  !  "  cried  Cousrouf, 
in  resolute  tones. 

"  But  have  you  proofs  of  her  guilt  ? "  asked  Mohammed. 
"  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  wise,  and  knows  how  to  defend  herself. 
Therefore  proofs,  and  not  the  accusation  only,  are  needed." 

"  I  shall  secure  proofs  !  When  we  are  determined  to  ac- 
cuse any  one,  proofs  are  never  wanting.  Else  of  what  use 
were  our  clerks  and  police  ?  And  now  you  may  go,  sarechsme. 
I  thank  you  for  your  advice,  and  will  quickly  proceed  to  raise 
money  from  the  Sitta  before  she  suspects  any  thing.  I  thank 
you  once  more  for  your  advice,  Mohammed,  and  I  shall  al- 
ways remember  that  you  are  the  shrewdest  and  most  faithful 
of  all  those  who  surround  me— you  perceive,  I  no  longer  say, 
of  my  servants.  Let  me  say,  as  I  most  gladly  do,  Mohammed 
Ali — let  me  say,  the  most  faithful  of  my  friends  !  Does  that 
please  you  ? " 

Mohammed  replied  with  a  profound  bow  only,  and  then 
silently  withdrew. 

The  hour  had  not  yet  passed,  and  his  soldiers  waited  peace- 
ably, as  he  had  commanded  them.  The  Nubian  slave  of  the 
viceroy  followed  his  horse,  carrying  the  ten  purses  of  gold- 


THE   REVOLT.  361 

pieces.  The  general  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  palace,  and 
waited  till  the  slave  had  come  up  and  taken  the  golden  treas- 
ure into  his  house.  Mohammed  then  went  to  the  grand  hall 
and  sent  word  down  by  a  servant,  that  a  deputation  of  twenty- 
two  of  his  men  were  to  come  up  to  him.  The  sarechsme  re- 
ceived them  standing  beside  a  table,  on  which  lay  the  ten 
purses  of  gold-pieces.  He  greeted  them  cordially. 

"  I  saw  the  viceroy  in  your  behalf,  and  begged  for  your 
pay.  I  was  told  that  the  week  had  not  yet  expired,  and  that 
you  should  wait.  The  viceroy,  however,  my  soldiers,  paid  me 
the  salary  due  me.  They  had  forgotten  to  pay  my  salary  ever 
since  I  have  been  in  Egypt  ;  it  has  therefore  now  become  a 
considerable  sum.  I  have  received  ten  purses  of  gold,  and  I 
am  really  in  need  of  this  money  to  meet  my  household  ex- 
penses. But  who  knows  when  you  will  receive  your  pay?  We 
all  share  danger  and  want  together,  however  ;  therefore  let  us 
also  share  the  good  things  of  this  world  together.  Five  purses 
I  will  keep  for  myself,  five  purses  belong  to  my  soldiers.  My 
housekeeper  will  go  down  into  the  court-yard  with  you,  and 
distribute  the  money  among  you.  I  give  it,  not  as  your  pay, 
but  as  a  token  of  my  friendship  and  satisfaction." 

"  Long  live  our  general  ! "  shouted  the  men  ;  and  they 
rushed  forward,  fell  on  their  knees,  and  kissed  his  garments. 
He  bade  them  rise,  called  his  housekeeper,,  and  gave  him  the 
five  purses.  The  latter  then  went  down  with  the  soldiers  to 
the  court-yard.  Mohammed  followed  them  with  his  eyes,  his 
countenance  lighted  up  with  a  peculiar  smile  : 

"  Now  they  are  mine  !  With  the  money  I  gave  them,  I 
have  bought  their  souls  !  Yes,  they  are  mine  !  The  seed  I 
have  sown  is  ripening.  O  Cousrouf,  only  follow  my  advice  ! 
Insult  the  one  woman  who  is  above  all  honored  and  esteemed 
in  Caii'o,  the  one  before  whom  all  bow  in  reverence — insult 
her,  that  the  harvest-day  of  my  revenge  may  soon  come  ! 
But  one  thing  still  remains  to  be  done  :  Sitta  Nefysseh  must 
be  warned." 

He  stealthily  stepped  out  into  the  garden  through  the  side- 
gate.     Unseen  by  his  soldiers  he  hastily  crossed  the  park,  and, 
opening  a  small  door  in  the  high  wall  that  surrounded  it, 
stepped  out  into  the  street. 
24 


362  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND  IIIS  HOUSE. 

It  was  silent  and  deserted.  No  one  saw  the  cautious  sa- 
rechsme,  closely  enveloped  in  his  mantle,  wend  his  way  hastily 
through  the  narrow  alleys  to  a  little  house  that  stood  alone  in 
the  outskirts  of  the  city.  He  crossed  the  threshold  without 
meeting  any  one.  All  was  still  in  the  dark,  narrow  passage. 
He  opened  the  door  of  the  chamber.  On  a  mat  sat  an  old 
woman,  weaving  woolen  cloth. 

"  Are  you  the  mother  of  Kachef  Youssouf  ? "  asked  the 
sarechsme. 

She  turned  around.  '•  Yes,  I  am.  You  have  not  come  to 
arrest  my  son  ?  He  has  not  gone  out  to  battle,  he  remains  in 
Cairo,  and  is  the  faithful  servant  of  his  gracious  mistress,  Sitta 
Nefysseh." 

"  That  I  know.  I  have  not  come  on  a  hostile  errand,  but 
merely  to  speak  to  him.  Where  is  he  ? " 

"  Where  he  always  is,  master,  with  his  gracious  mistress. 
If  you  wish  it,  I  will  call  him  ;  a  door  opens  from  this  house 
into  Sitta  Nefysseh's  park,  and  I  know  where  my  son  is  to  be 
found." 

"Then  call  him  quickly." 

The  old  woman  hastened  away.  In  a  short  time  she  re- 
turned with  her  son  Youssouf. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ? "  asked  Mohammed,  advancing  to  meet 
him. 

"Yes,  who  does  not  know  the  brave  sarechsme,  Mohammed 
Ali?" 

"  Do  you  love  your  mistress  ? "  asked  Mohammed. 

Youssouf  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  dismay  and 
anxiety. 

"  I  mean,  you  love  her  as  it  beseems  every  faithful  servant 
to  love  his  mistress — you  are  ready  to  do  her  every  serv- 
ice?" 

"  Yes,  sarechsme,  so  do  I  love  her,"  replied  Youssouf,  in  low 
tones. 

"  Then  listen  !  Come  close  to  me — it  is  a  secret.  I  tell  you 
of  it  for  your  mistress's  sake  ;  reward  me  by  letting  no  one 
know  who  told  you." 

"  I  swear  that  I  will  not,  sarechsme  !  " 

u  Go  to  your  mistress  and  tell  her  to  have  all  her  treasure, 


A  STRONG   HEART.  363 

her  gold  and  silver  plate,  and  all  her  other  valuables,  put  in  a 
safe  place.  You  probably  have  some  such  places  in  your  cel- 
lars or  vaults.  It  must  be  done  quickly.  Say  a  dream  has 
warned  you  or  what  you  will,  but  do  not  name  me  !  " 

He  enveloped  himself  in  his  mantle,  and  hurried  back  to 
his  palace,  in  which  all  was  now  still.  The  soldiers  had  gone 
out  to  spend  the  present  given  them  by  their  general  in  joy 
and  revelry.  Mohammed  was  again  alone  in  his  chamber. 
He  walked  to  and  fro,  reflecting  on  all  he  had  done,  with  silent 
self-applause  : 

"  It  would  have  been  unfortunate  had  he  found  Sitta  Ne- 
fysseh's  treasure.  It  would  help  him  out  of  his  difficulties. 
That  would  never  do.  You  are  falling,  Cousrouf  !  and  it  is  I 
who  am  hurling  you  down  !  Your  peril  increases  with  every 
hour  !  You  have  only  to  insult  Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  all  Cairo 
will  rise  up  in  arms  against  you.  Let  that  be  your  last  deed  ! 
Then,  Cousrouf,  when  you  have  fallen,  you  shall  know  who 
has  destroyed  you  ! — Masa,  sleep  quietly  in  your  cold  grave  ! 
You  are  being  avenged  ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  STRONG  HEART. 

MOHAMMED  ALI'S  warning  to  the  kachef  Youssouf  had  not 
been  disregarded.  In  the  secret  vault,  the  entrance  to  which 
had  been  confided  by  Mourad  Bey  to  his  wife  on  his  death-bed, 
Sitta  Nefysseh's  treasure  now  lay  in  security. 

No  one  in  the  house  knew  of  this  vault ;  Sitta  Nefysseh 
had  confided  it  to  the  kachef  Youssouf  only,  and  they  two  had 
conveyed  all  her  valuables  to  this  hiding-place. 

When  all  was  completed,  and  the  Sitta  had  retired  to  her 
apartments,  Youssouf  announced  himself,  and,  upon  being  ad- 
mitted, stepped  humbly  forward,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  hand- 
ed her  the  keys. 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  What  does  this  mean  ? 
What  do  you  bring  me  ?  " 


364  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  The  keys  to  the  vault.  This  one  opens  the  inner,  and  the 
other  the  outer  door." 

"  You  will  keep  them  for  me,  Youssouf,"  said  his  mistress, 
inclining  her  beautiful  head. 

''  You  confide  them  to  me,"  said  he,  his  countenance  radiant 
with  delight.  "  You  wish  to  confide  to  your  slave  the  keys  to 
your  treasure  ? " 

*'  Does  that  surprise  you  ? "  asked  she,  gently.  "  I  know  I 
can  safely  confide  to  the  kachef  of  my  deceased  husband  all 
that  I  have  and  possess.  You  will  keep  the  keys  ;  and  listen, 
Youssouf,  should  I  die — " 

"  Die  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  a  cry  which  he  found  it  im- 
possible to  repress.  "  Die  ! — you,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ? " 

"  I  am  mortal,  as  we  all  are,  as  great  Mourad  was  ! "  said 
she,  gravely.  "  If  I  should  die,  you  will  take  these  keys  to  Os- 
man  Bey  Bardissi,  and  tell  him  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  sends  them 
to  him,  and  that  in  the  vault  here  are  souvenirs  for  her  friends. 
You,  however,  Youssouf,  I  make  the  executor  of  my  last  will  ; 
you  are  to  distribute  the  souvenirs  according  to  a  list  that  I 
will  give  you.'' 

She  arose  and  took  from  a  little  closet  in  the  wall  a  small 
book,  bound  with  gold  and  richly  studded  with  diamonds. 

"  This  book  contains  the  names  of  those  to  whom  I  wish  to 
leave  a  present  at  my  death  ;  you  will  act  according  to  the  in- 
structions contained  in  it,  but  the  book  itself  you  will  keep. 
My  initials  are  on  it,  set  in  splendid  diamonds.  It  was  given 
me  by  Bonaparte,  the  general  of,  the  Franks.  Keep  it,  and, 
when  you  read  my  name,  think  of  me  ! " 

"  Mistress,  I  can  bear  it  no  longer  ! "  cried  he,  bursting  into 
tears  and  falling  on  his  knees.  "  No,  I  can  bear  it  no  longer  ! 
The  thought  of  your  dying  robs  me  of  all  self-control.  O  mis- 
tress, be  merciful,  and  do  not  speak  of  your  death  ! " 

"  We  have  already  dismissed  that  subject,"  said  she,  smil- 
ing. "  We  must  be  firm  and  brave.  Youssouf  must  not  weep 
like  a  young  girl  !  Dry  your  tears,  I  will  not  see  them  !  " 

Obedient  to  her  command,  he  arose  and  brushed  the  tears 
from  his  eyes.  "  Mistress,  at  your  bidding  my  heart  is  strong 
again,  and  your  slave  awaits  your  commands,"  said  he,  in  a 
firm  voice. 


A  STRONG  HEART.  365 

She  seemed  to  be  struggling  to  regain  control  of  herself. 
Youssouf's  eyes  rested  on  her  in  a  glance  of  such  passionate 
tenderness  that  she  felt  it  without  seeing  it. 

"  I  have  a  final  commission  to  give  you,"  said  she. 

"  A  command,  mistress  !  You  know  that  your  slightest 
wish  is  a  command  for  me,  and  would  be  carried  out  if  I 
should  die  in  the  performance  !  " 

"  Die  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  slight  start.  "  Now  you  speak  of 
death,  Youssouf.  No,  you  shall  not  die  !  No,  thoughts  of 
death  overtake  us  soon  enough  !  Listen  :  I  wish  you  to  mount 
your  horse  and  ride  to  Osman  Bey  Bardissi's  camp." 

''  Now,  mistress  !  No,  do  not  require  this  of  me  ! "  cried 
he,  anxiously.  "  You  are  aware  an  unknown  friend  has 
warned  us,  and  said  that  Sitta  should  hide  her  treasure,  as 
danger  threatened  her.  And  now  you  require  Youssouf  to 
leave  you,  him  who  promised  his  master,  Mourad  Bey,  that  he 
would  faithfully  stand  beside  you  his  life  long  !  You  cannot 
send  me  away,  you  will  wait  until  the  danger  is  past ;  then 
will  I  go  wherever  you  send  me,  were  it  to  the  ends  of  the 
world  !  For  you,  Youssouf  will  rush  into  the  arms  of  Death, 
but  he  cannot  leave  you  to  face  danger  alone.  No,  Sitta  Ne- 
fysseh,  do  not  require  this  of  me  ! " 

"  I  do  require  it  of  you.  The  message  I  wish  to  send  Osman 
Bey  is  important  and  secret,  and  I  can  intrust  it  to  no  one  but 
you.  Within  an  hour,  you  will  mount  your  horse,  leave  the 
city,  and  not  rest  until  you  are  with  Bardissi." 

"  Impossible,  mistress,  quite  impossible  !  Only  let  me  re- 
main with  you  until  the  danger  is  past,  then  I  will  fly  to  Os- 
man Bey,  and  conjure  him  to  come  with  his  men  to  protect 
Sitta  Nefysseh." 

"  Youssouf,  I  had  always  supposed  you  were  devoted  and 
obedient  to  me,"  said  she,  in  tones  of  displeasure.  "  You  have 
sworn  that  you  will  be  my  slave,  although  you  are  a  free  man, 
and  may  let  your  beard  grow.  Now  when  I,  for  the  first  time, 
put  your  obedience  to  the  proof,  you  refuse  to  do  what  I  re- 
quire. Is  that  honoring  your  mistress,  is  that  fulfilling  your 
oath  ?  I  repeat  it,  Kachef  Youssouf,  you  will  leave  my  house, 
and  repair  at  once  to  the  camp  of  Osman  Bey  Bardissi." 

"  That  is  to  say,  O  mistress,  you  intend  to  drive  me  from 


366  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

you  ;  you  wish  to  proclaim  to  the  world  that  Kachef  Youssouf 
is  a  faithless  coward  !  " 

"  Who  dare  say  that  ?  "  cried  she,  her  eyes  sparkling  with 
anger. 

"  Do  you  not  suppose  all  the  world  will  point  their  fingers 
at  me  when  I  return  ?  '  When  danger  threatened,  he  deserted 
his  mistress,'  I  already  hear  them  say  ;  '  he  saved  himself,  and 
left  her  to  face  the  danger  alone.'  " 

"If  any  one  should  dare  to  speak  thus,  I  should  say,  it  was 
I  who  sent  you  away.  Go,  now,  Kachef  Youssouf.  Too  many 
words  have  already  passed  between  us  ;  it  is  time  you  obeyed 
my  command." 

"  Well,  then,  mistress,  you  command  me  to  go,  and  I  will 
go.  What  do  you  care,  though  you  inflict  profound  anguish 
on  a  faithful  servant,  though  his  heart  break  ?  What  do  you 
care,  though  my  whole  future  be  made  miserable  ?  Like  a 
heavenly  vision,  you  float  high  above  all  human  anguish  and 
torment ;  they  do  not  touch  your  heart.  Your  heart,  O  mis- 
tress, is  luminous  like  the  diamond,  but  also  cold  and  hard 
like  the  diamond." 

"  Youssouf  ! "  cried  she,  in  tones  that  made  his  heart  leap — 
"  Youssouf,  you  accuse  me  of  being  hard  and  cold  ! " 

For  a  moment  a  wondrous  brilliancy  shone  in  her  eyes, 
then  she  suddenly  drew  back  from  Youssouf,  who  stood  there, 
motionless,  in  a  state  of  ecstasy.  He  stood  gazing  at  her,  en- 
tranced, seeming  to  hear  and  see  nothing.  Not  far  from  him, 
her  face  turned  away,  Sitta  Nefysseh  stood  still.  He  distinctly 
heard  her  hurried  breathing,  and  something  like  a  low  sob 
escape  her  breast.  He  listened  to  it  as  to  mysterious  and 
wondrously  sweet  music. 

Suddenly,  she  turned  around,  and  advanced  toward  him 
with  head  erect  and  proud  bearing.  "  Kachef  Youssouf,  you 
have  excited  my  indignation  by  your  unmerited  reproaches  ! 
No  one  can  say  that  Mourad  Bey's  widow  has  a  cold,  hard 
heart.  Mourad  Bey  knew  otherwise  ;  he  knew  that  I  loved 
him  ;  and  if  I  have  seemed,  since  his  death,  to  have  a  cold, 
hard  heart,  it  is  only  because  I  have  remained  true  to  his 
memory.  Consider  this,  and  do  not  dare  to  reproach  me. 
Now  go,  and  hasten  with  my  message  to  Bardissi ! " 


A   STRONG   HEART.  367 

"  I  am  going,  mistress,"  said  he,  sadly.  "  But,  when  I  have 
executed  your  command,  then  I  may  return  to  my  mistress 
with  what  speed  my  horse  can  bear  me,  may  I  not  ? " 

She  remained  silent,  and  let  her  eyelids,  with  their  long, 
black  lashes,  sink  down  over  her  beautiful  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  a  sigh  escaped  her  breast. 

"  No,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No  ? "  shrieked,  rather  than  cried,  Youssouf .  "  I  may  not 
return  ! " 

"You  may  not  return,  Kachef  Youssouf.  I  have  long 
recognized  that  it  ill  became  a  young  man  to  pass  his  days 
here  in  ease  and  quiet,  while  his  friends,  his  brothers,  are  con- 
fronting the  enemy  on  the  battle-field.  You  said  it  would 
disgrace  Youssouf  if  he  left  his  mistress  in  danger ;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  the  disgrace  is  much  greater  when  a 
youth,  born  perhaps  to  become  a  hero,  spends  his  days  in  in- 
glorious ease,  reclining  on  soft  cushions.  Consider  that 
Mourad  Bey  never  laid  aside  his  sword.  Remember  that, 
when  the  trumpet  sounded,  he  was  ever  the  first  to  the  field. 
He  would  have  considered  him  his  enemy  who  should  have 
said  to  him  :  '  Eemain  at  home,  and  repose  on  your  cushions 
while  your  brethren  are  facing  death  for  the  fatherland  !'  I 
think  you  should  endeavor  to  follow  his  example.  You 
must  follow  his  example  !  Kachef  Youssouf,  I  will  tell  you 
what  is  written  in  the  letter  you  are  to  take  to  Osman  Bey. 
I  announce  to  him  that  I  send  the  truest  and  bravest  of  all 
kachefs,  and  I  beg  him  to  take  you  to  battle  with  him.  I 
announce  to  him  that  I  give  him  for  the  fatherland,  and  the 
most  faithful  friend  I  have,  and  beg  him  to  place  you  at  the 
starting-point,  from  which  you  are  to  run  your  race  as  a 
hero." 

"Oh,  bitterness  and  anguish!"  cried  Youssouf,  in  tones 
of  despair.  "  She  drives  me  from  her  like  a  miserable  dog 
whom  she  will  not  tolerate  on  the  threshold  of  her  door." 

"  No,  Youssouf,"  replied  Sitta  Nefysseh,  sadly.  v(  No  ! 
His  mistress  only  points  out  to  Youssouf  the  road  he  must 
pursue  in  order  to  become  one  day  a  hero,  and  the  first  and 
foremost  of  all  the  Mameluke  beys.  There  is  a  higher  bliss 
than  domestic  happiness,  and  that  is  the  pursuit  of  glory.  Let 


368  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

glory  be  your  aim.  You  shall  be  called  a  hero,  and  the  scha- 
er  shall  proclaim  your  deeds  to  the  listening  people.  And 
this,  O  Youssouf,"  she  added  in  lower  tones,  "this  is  my  con- 
solation in  parting  with  you — you,"  she  quickly  resumed,  as  if 
feeling  that  there  had  been  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice 
that  required  an  explanation,  "  you  whom  1  esteem  as  my  hus- 
band's devoted  friend  !  And  now  go,  Youssouf,  and  let  this 
be  my  farewell  greeting  !  Think  of  me  when  you  go  out  to 
battle,  think  that  your  glory  is  my  pride  ! " 

"  I  am  going,"  said  he,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  I  am  going, 
and  to  die,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ! " 

"  To  die  ?    No,  Youssouf,"  cried  she.     "  No,  not  to  die." 

"  I  must,  for  you  drive  me  from  you  ;  you  send  me  to  con- 
front the  death-dealing  bullets.  Do  not  think  that  it  is  base 
fear  that  drives  me  to  despair.  When  going  with  my  master 
to  battle,  I  have  never  known  fear.  I  am  going  away  to  die  ; 
I  shall  seek  the  enemy's  ^bullets  in  the  hope  that  they  gra- 
ciously relieve  me  of  my  miserable  existence." 

"  Youssouf,"  cried  she,  in  tones  of  such  pride  and  dignity 
that  he  started — "  Youssouf,  I  had  supposed  until  now  that  I 
was  your  mistress." 

"  Yes,  you  were  my  mistress  until  this  hour  ;  but  now  you 
drive  me  from  you  !"  cried  he  in  anguish. 

"  No  ;  wherever,  you  may  be  you  are  mine,  and  must  obey 
me.  You  are  a  free  man,  and  yet  I  hold  you  in  bonds.  In 
virtue  of  these  bonds  I  command  you  not  to  seek  death,  but  to 
seek  renown.  You  are  to  return,  a  Mameluke  bey.  Thus 
must  he  return  ;  thus  must  Sitta  Nefysseh  see  him  appear  on 
her  threshold,  and  then —  And  now,"  she  quickly  interrupted 
herself,  "  have  you  heard  your  mistress's  command  ?  You 
will  not  seek  death  ?  You  swear  to  me  that  you  will  fight 
like  a  true  soldier  for  fatherland  and  glory,  and  that  you  will 
not  seek  death  ?  The  brave  do  not  fear  death,  neither  do  they 
seek  it.  The  despairing  seek  death,  and  thereby  invoke  upon 
themselves  the  curse  of  Allah  for  all  time.  Swear  to  me  that 
you  will  fight  like  a  hero,  and  yet  hold  your  life  sacred.  I, 
Sitta  Nefysseh,  your  mistress,  command  you  to  do  so  !" 

u  And  I  will  obey  my  mistress's  command  !  I  swear  that 
I  will  struggle  against  my  despair.  I  swear  that  I  will  live, 


A  STRONG   HEART.  369 

to  do  your  bidding  now,  and  to  return  to  hear  from  your  lips, 
perhaps,  a  kindly  word  of  approval.  You  shall  be  pleased 
with  me.  I  will  fight  as  beseems  your  servant.  O  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  you  are  not  cruel  in  sending  me  away  ;  you  are 
only  wise  and  thoughtful,  not  cold  and  hard  of  heart,  are 
you  ?  You  view  the  world  with  composure  and  wisdom. 
You  find  that  Kachef  Youssouf  should  no  longer  remain  here 
in  ease  and  inactivity,  and  you  send  him  from  you  for  his 
own  sake.  This  is  kind  and  noble  on  your  part,  and  I  should 
thank  you  for  sending  me  away  to  perform  deeds  of  valor, 
and  return  a  Mameluke  bey.  This  is  magnanimous  of  you, 
and  it  was  only  my  miserable  weakness  that  prevented  me 
from  recognizing  it,  and  sent  foolish  tears  to  my  eyes." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  his  head  fell  upon 
his  breast.  Sitta  Nefysseh  gazed  at  him  intently  ;  he  did  not 
see  the  expression  of  anguish  that  rested  on  her  features. 
When  he  removed  his  hands  from  his  face,  she  had  averted 
her  gaze,  and  her  countenance  was  composed. 

"  Forgive  me,  mistress,"  said  he,  "  I  was  a  fool  once  more  ; 
I  thought  of  the  past,  and  wept  over  it.  But  I  am  now  rec- 
onciled, and  ready  to  go.  I  will  do  as  you  say  ;  I  will  not 
seek  death,  but  I  will  thank  Allah  if  he  allows  it  to  find  me. 
Farewell,  mistress  ! "  He  fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  the  hem 
of  her  dress.  He  then  stood  up  and  rushed  out  of  the  room 
without  looking  at  her  again. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  looked  after  him  with  outstretched  arms, 
and  the  flood  of  tears  which  she  had  so  long  restrained  burst 
from  her  eyes. 

"  I  love  him,  O  Allah  !  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  him  ! 
Let  him  return  a  hero  covered  with  glory,  and  then,  O  Allah, 
graciously  grant  that  I  may  be  able  to  reward  him  for  all  his 
love,  and  for  all  the  pain  I  have  caused  him  !  Let  Kachef 
Youssouf  return  as  Youssouf  the  Mameluke  bey,  and  I  shall 
be  blessed  ;  as  the  master  of  my  life  will  I  accept  him,  for  I 
love  him." 

A  horse's  hoofs  ring  out  against  the  pavement  of  the 
court-yard  without.  A  cry  resounds  from  her  lips,  and  she 
sinks  down.  "  O  Allah,  watch  over  him  I  Let  him  return  ! 
I  love  him — I  love  him  so  dearly  ! " 


370  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

PERSECUTION. 

AN  hour  had  scarcely  elapsed  since  Youssouf  s  departure 
when  two  of  her  maids  rushed  into  Sitta  Nefysseh's  presence 
with  anxious  looks.  She  lay  on  the  divan,  her  countenance 
entirely  concealed,  to  hide  her  tear-stained  features.  She  re- 
mained still,  endeavoring  to  recover  her  composure.  The 
women  came  nearer. 

"  Mistress,  some  one  is  here  who  wishes  to  speak  with  Sitta 
Nefysseh." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  that  alarms  you  so  ? "  said  she,  raising 
her  head  slightly,  and  looking  at  them.  "Who  is  it  that 
wishes  to  speak  with  me  ? " 

"  O  mistress,"  murmured  one  of  them,  "  it  is  the  cadi  with 
four  of  the  police." 

Sitta  Nefysseh  sprang  to  her  feet. 

''  What  say  you  ?  The  chief  of  the  police  dares  to  enter 
my  house !  What  does  he  want  ? " 

"  He  says  he  comes  at  the  instance  of  his  highness  the 
viceroy." 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Sitta  Nefysseh,  quietly,  "  let  him 
enter."  One  of  the  women  opened  the  door,  and  the  cadi, 
the  chief  of  police,  appeared  on  the  threshold ;  hehind 
him  stood  four  policemen,  with  pistols  and  daggers  in  their 
belts,  their  hands  on  their  swords. 

"  Were  my  women  right  ? "  asked  Sitta  Nefysseh,  with  dig- 
nity. "You  come  in  the  name  of  his  highness  the  vice- 
roy?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  cadi,  with  a  slight  bow.  "  Yes,  I  come 
in  his  highness's  name.  The  viceroy  commands  that  Mourad 
Bey's  widow  accompany  me  at  once  to  his  presence,  to  the 
citadel." 

"  And  with  what  right  ? "  asked  she  quietly. 

"  I  know  not  and  care  not,"  said  the  official,  with  an  air  of 
indifference;  "  here  is  the  order."  He  drew  from  his  pocket  a 
document,  to  which  large  seals  were  appended,  and  handed  it 


PERSECUTION.  371 

to  her.     Sitta  Nefysseh  looked  at  it,  and  returned  it  with  per- 
fect composure. 

"You  are  right,  it  is  the  viceroy's  order.  I  will  obey. 
Order  the  carriage  to  be  driven  to  the  door." 

She  said  this  in  such  imperious  tones  that  the  cadi,  at  other 
times  a  proud  man,  and  a  high  dignitary  of  the  viceroy's 
court,  could  not  but  obey  her,  and  stepped  out  and  delivered 
her  command  to  one  of  his  officers.  He  then  returned  to  Sitta 
Nefysseh. 

"I  have  orders  to  leave  a  guard  in  your  house,"  said  he. 

"  Then  do  so,"  said  she,  quietly.  "  The  viceroy  is  master 
over  us  all,  and  it  seems  there  is  no  law  here  in  Cairo  but  his 
will.  Obey  him,  therefore.  Leave  a  guard  in  my  house." 

He  seemed  not  to  notice  the  mockery  in  her  words,  and 
bowed  in  silence. 

"No  one  may  enter  or  leave  your  house  during  your 
absence." 

"  Why  do  you  say  this  to  me  ?  Say  it  to  those  who  may 
desire  to  leave  it  after  I  have  gone,  and  who  may  be  alarmed. 
I  am  not  alarmed  ;  my  conscience  does  not  accuse  me.  My 
carriage  is  ready — let  us  go.  I  trust,  however,  that  the  viceroy 
does  not  require  me  to  appear  before  him  alone ;  it  is  becom- 
ing that  Mourad's  Bey's  widow  should  be  accompanied  by  her 
women  when  she  goes  out." 

"I  am  not  instructed  to  refuse  such  a  request;  yet,  there 
must  not  be  more  of  them  than  your  carriage  will  contain." 

"Two  of  my  servants  will  accompany  me,"  said  she. 
Without  once  looking  back  into  the  room,  or  manifesting  any 
fear  or  anxiety  whatever,  she  stepped  out  into  the  vestibule, 
and,  beckoning  to  two  of  the  weeping  women  who  had 
assembled  about  her,  commanded  them  to  follow  her.  "You 
others  need  fear  nothing,"  said  she  with  perfect  composure. 
"  The  cadi  leaves  his  guards  here  to  protect  you,  against  whom 
I  know  not,  but  certainly  against  some  one."  Taking  leave  of 
her  servants  with  a  kindly  nod,  and  drawing  her  veil  more 
closely  about  her,  she  walked  proudly  out  into  the  court-yard 
to  the  carriage. 

Almost  ashamed  of  his  errand,  the  cadi  followed  and 
assisted  her  in  entering  the  carriage,  closing  the  door  after 


372  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

her.  The  carriage  drove  off  rapidly,  accompanied  by  the  cadi 
and  his  officers,  while  another  body  of  men  remained  in 
charge  of  the  house. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  while  the 
carriage  rolled  through  the  streets,  her  thoughts  far  distant 
from  her  present  surroundings. 

''  I  thank  thee,  Allah,  that  he  is  saved  ! "  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "I  thank  thee!  He  would  have  been  excited  to 
ungovernable  wrath,  and  he  would  have  been  punished  and 
imprisoned  as  a  rebel.  I  have  saved  him !  What  have  I  now 
to  fear  ?  Let  the  worst  befall,  provided  only  that  he  be  safe  ? " 

The  carriage  moved  slowly  up  the  Muskj  Street,  through 
dense  crowds  of  people.  It  was  market-day,  and  the  street 
was  thronged  with  people,  who  complained  so  loudly  of  the 
intruding  carriage  and  horsemen  that  Sitta  Nefysseh,  aroused 
from  her  meditations,  leaned  forward  and  drew  the  window- 
curtains  aside.  The  people,  who  in  their  wrath  had  not 
observed  that  the  cadi  and  his  officers  constituted  the  escort  of 
the  carriage,  now  became  silent  as  they  saw  the  woman  at  the 
window,  and  peered  in  with  curiosity. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  raised  her  veil  and  displayed  her  countenance 
to  the  multitude.  "It  is  Sitta  Nefysseh,  Mourad  Bey's 
widow  !  "  resounded  in  the  street.  The  cry  was  repeated  until 
the  gaze  of  all  became  fixed  on  the  carriage  in  astonishment. 
"  What  does  it  mean  ? " 

Buying  and  selling  were  no  longer  thought  of.  The 
people  followed  the  carriage,  which  moved  slowly  through 
the  crowded  street  toward  the  viceroy's  citadel,  in  dense 
masses.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  cadi  ordered  them  to  disperse ; 
in  vain  that  the  officers  threatened  them  with  drawn  swords. 
They  only  pressed  on  in  denser  masses,  increased  by  the  peo- 
ple who  came  flocking  from  their  houses  to  see  Mourad  Bey's 
widow,  who  sat  tranquilly  in  the  carriage  with  her  two 
women.  Their  destination  was  at  last  reached,  and  the  gates 
of  the  citadel  closed  behind  them.  The  people  who  had 
accompanied  the  carriage  remained  without,  yelling  and 
shrieking :  "  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  imprisoned — let  us  liberate  her  ! " 

Sitta  Nefysseh  had  left  her  carriage,  and  was  now  following 
the  cadi,  who  walked  in  advance.  Behind  her  came  the  two 


PERSECUTION.  373 

women,  followed  by  the  officers.  Thus  the  procession  moved 
in  profound  silence  up  the  broad  stairway  and  into  the  grand 
reception-saloon. 

"  Be  kind  enough  to  wait  here  a  moment,"  said  the  cadi. 

He  walked  into  the  next  apartment.  Sitta  Nefysseh,  who 
had  again  covered  her  face  with  her  veil,  stood  proudly  erect 
in  the  midst  of  the  saloon.  The  two  weeping  women  stepped 
nearer  to  their  mistress,  and  asked  if  danger  threatened 
her,  and  begged  to  be  permitted  to  accompany  her  every- 
where. 

"Be  still  !"  said  Sitta,  in  low  tones.  "Shed  no  tears. 
These  men  must  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  us  appear 
cowardly  and  weak," 

The  cadi  now  returned  and  stood  at  the  threshold,  holding 
the  velvet  curtain  aside. 

'•Be  kind  enough  to  enter,  Sitta  Nefysseh." 

"Not  alone.     My  women  will  accompany  me." 

"  No,  they  are  to  remain  here.  You  alone  are  to  enter.  The 
women  will  await  your  return  here." 

Sitta  Nefysseh  walked  proudly  into  the  next  apartment. 
The  curtain  fell  back  behind  her.  Cousrouf,  who  lay 
stretched  out  on  his  silken  cushions,  smoking  his  chibouque, 
looked  up  at  her  through  the  clouds  of  smoke  that  enveloped 
him  as  she  entered  the  room.  She  looked  at  him  composedly, 
and  remained  standing  at  the  door  with  so  proud  and  digni- 
fied a  bearing,  such  majesty  in  her  whole  appearance,  that 
Cousrouf 's  insolence  could  not  but  succumb.  He  arose  and 
advanced  to  meet  her. 

"  I  salute  you,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  widow  of  Mourad  Bey  ! " 

''I  do  not  return  your  salutation.  I  have  been  conducted 
here  from  my  house  in  an  insulting  manner,  and  I  am  now 
surprised  to  find  that  his  highness  seems  only  to  have  had  me 
brought  here  in  order  to  salute  me." 

"  I  did  not  call  you  in  order  to  salute  you,  but  for  an 
entirely  different  purpose,"  replied  Cousrouf.  "  Seat  yourself 
on  the  ottoman  beside  me,  and  let  us  converse." 

u  Converse,  highness  ?  Friends  and  confidants  sit  down  to 
converse  with  each  other,  but  unfortunately  we  are  neither," 
replied  she,  composedly,  as  she  seated  herself  on  the  ottoman 


374:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

with  the  dignity  of  a  princess.  Cousrouf  remaining  standing, 
Sitta  Nefysseh  raised  her  hand  and  pointed  to  the  divan. 
"  To  the  viceroy  belongs  the  seat  of  honor.  I  beg  your  high- 
ness to  take  that  seat," 

He  bowed  slightly,  and  took  the  seat  assigned  him. 

''  I  wished  to  beg  Sitta  Nefysseh's  permission  to  seat  myself 
at  her  side,  to  converse  with  her  as  a  friend.  You  do  not  de- 
sire it,  however — you  wish  to  see  in  me  the  prince  only.  Let 
it  be  so.  I  am  only  the  viceroy,  and  I  have  summoned  you  to 
appear  before  me." 

"  Summoned,  you  call  it  ? "  cried  she,  passionately.  "  I  call 
it  being  dragged  here  in  a  disgraceful  manner  ! " 

"  Compose  yourself,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ;  let  us  converse  calmly. 
I  have  grave  reproaches  to  make." 

"Against  me  ?"  asked  she,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  serious,  grave  reproaches  !  You  are  of  the  opinion, 
are  you  not,  that  every  mistress  is  responsible  for  the  actions 
of  her  servants  ? " 

''  I  am,  because,  if  one  has  bad  and  faithless  servants,  he 
should  discharge  them.  Yes,  it  seems  to  me  a  master  is  re- 
sponsible for  his  servants'  actions." 

"  And  therefore  have  I  summoned  you  to  this  audience. 
Do  you  know  what  your  kachef  Youssouf  has  done  ?" 

Sitta  Nefysseh  trembled.  It  was  fortunate  that  her  veil 
concealed  her  features,  and  that  Cousrouf  could  not  see  the 
deathly  pallor  that  overspread  her  cheeks. 

"  My  kacbef  ? "  said  she,  with  forced  composure.  "  Of  what 
is  he  accused  ? " 

"  He  is  accused  of  attempting  to  bribe  my  soldiers,  and  in- 
cite them  to  revolt  and  treason." 

*'  That  is  not  true  ! "  exclaimed  she,  passionately.  "  That  is 
a  falsehood,  and  I  tell  you  so  to  your  face  !  My  words  are 
true.  My  kachef  has  never  done  such  things  ;  he  is  incapable 
of  inciting  any  one  to  a  breach  of  faith  or  to  treason.  He  is 
the  truest  and  best  of  my  servants." 

"  And  yet  it  is  true.  Your  kachef  has  incited  my  soldiers 
to  treason.  The  viceroy  says  it  is  true  ! "  cried  Cousrouf. 
"  Youssouf  attempted  to  corrupt  one  of  my  own  soldiers,  an 
Armenian,  urging  him  to  go  over  to  Osman  Bardissi.  When 


PERSECUTION.  •  375 

the  soldier  refused,  he  promised  to  give  him  the  same  pay  he 
now  receives  from  me." 

"Highness,  that  is  not  true,  I  swear  it  is  not  ! " 

"  Here  is  the  proof  !  "  answered  Cousrouf,  rising  to  his  feet 
and  taking  from  the  tahle  a  paper,  which  he  unfolded.  u  Here 
is  the  proof  !  Here  it  is,  plainly  written  in  his  own  handwrit- 
ing 1  Herein  your  kachef  Youssouf  promises  my  soldier, 
Sadok  Aga,  to  give  him  his  whole  pay,  and  even  double  the 
amount,  if  he  will  undertake  to  ride  to  Bardissi's  camp  and 
convey  a  letter  to  the  bey.  Here  it  is  in  his  own  handwriting, 
and  signed  by  him." 

"Highness,  I  beg  you  to  let  me  see  the  writing,"  said  Ne- 
fysseh,  extending  her  hand  to  take  the  paper.  "  Let  me  see  it ; 
I  can  read." 

Cousrouf  did  not  comply  with  her  request.  He  folded  the 
paper,  and  laid  it  on  the  table  again. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  that  you  should  read  it.  I  insist  that 
your  kachef  endeavors  to  corrupt  my  soldiers  and  induce  them 
to  desert  to  Bardissi's  camp.  This  is  clearly  treason.  As  you 
yourself  admit  that  a  mistress  is  responsible  for  her  servant's 
actions,  I  declare  and  shall  hold  you,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  responsi- 
ble for  your  servant's  crime." 

"  That  you  cannot  do,  highness  !  Youssouf  is  no  longer 
my  servant,  is  no  longer  in  my  house.  I  have  discharged 
him,  not  because  I  thought  ill  of  him,  not  because  I  desired  to 
punish  him,  but  because  I  esteem  him,  because  I  know  he  was 
created  for  something  better  than  to  be  only  the  servant  of  a 
woman.  I  discharged  him  because  his  courage  and  nobility 
of  soul  urged  him  to  draw  the  sword  and  go  out  to  battle.  He 
has  gone  to  Bardissi's  camp  to  serve  in  the  ranks  of  his  Mame- 
lukes." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  cried  Cousrouf,  in  angry  tones — 'k  that  is 
to  say,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  Mourad  Bey's  widow  raises  soldiers  in 
her  house  for  the  army  of  our  enemy  ! " 

"  Could  your  highness  expect  Mourad  Bey's — the  Mame- 
luke chieftain's — widow  to  raise  soldiers  for  the  enemies  of 
her  deceased  husband  ? "  asked  she,  throwing  her  head  back 
proudly.  "  Yet  let  me  remark  this  :  my  expression  was  badly 
chosen.  Sitta  Nefysseh  does  not  occupy  herself  with  raising 


376  MOHAMMED  ALI  AXD   HIS  HOUSE. 

soldiers.  Youssouf  was  brought  up  by  my  husband,  and  has 
remained  in  my  house  these  few  years  since  his  death.  He 
had  grown  weary  of  the  effeminate  life  he  was  leading,  and 
begged  to  be  discharged  from  my  service.  I  did  as  he  re- 
quested. I  am  not  his  mother,  not  his  sister,  and  not  his  rela- 
tive. He  is  a  freeman,  and  puts  his  freedom  to  the  best  use. 
But  I  tell  you  that  he  is  not  guilty  of  the  charge  you  make 
against  him — he  never  wrote  that  paper.  And  do  you  know 
why  not,  Cousrouf  ?  Because  he  does  not  know  how  to  write. 
He  is  a  warrior,  and  only  knows  how  to  write  indelible  char- 
acters on  the  faces  of  his  enemies  with  his  sword  ;  and,  believe 
me,  I  should  recognize  these  characters  if  they  were  inscribed 
on  your  face — I  should  recognize  the  handwriting  of  my 
kachef  ;  but  the  characters  on  that  paper  are  not  his." 

"  Truly,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  your  audacity  is  great  ! "  cried 
Cousrouf. 

"  But,  it  seems  to  me,  yours  is  far  greater  ;  forgive  me  for 
saying  so,  highness.  Man  and  woman  we  stand  before  each 
other,  and  you  have  publicly  branded  the  woman,  who  is  con- 
scious of  no  shame,  with  disgrace." 

"  How  can  you  make  such  a  charge  against  me  ?  What  is 
it  that  I  have  done?  You  yourself  acknowledge  that  the 
master  is  justly  responsible  for  his  servants'  actions,  and  I  re- 
peat it :  your  kachef  has  endeavored  to  draw  my  soldiers  from 
their  allegiance,  to  corrupt  them.  I  have  accused  you  of  noth- 
ing else. '' 

"  Yes,  you  have  more  than  accused  me  of  other  crimes  ! " 
cried  she,  throwing  back  her  veil,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  in- 
dignation. ''  Look  at  me  !  In  me,  you  have  put  the  woman, 
put  Mourad  Bey's  widow  to  shame.  You  have  caused  me  to 
be  brought  from  my  house  by  policemen.  That  is  to  say,  you 
have  insulted,  in  me,  womanly  virtue  and  honor  !  " 

"  How  so  ? "  asked  Cousrouf,  in  astonishment. 

"  Do  you  know  so  little  of  the  customs  of  our  land  ?  You, 
the  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  do  not  know  that,  when  women  are  led 
through  the  street  by  the  police,  it  is  equivalent  to  branding 
them  as  lost  to  all  shame  ;  that  they  are  delivered  over  to  the 
police  to  be  punished  by  being  conducted  through  the  public 
streets,  to  the  disgrace  of  their  entire  sex  ! '' 


PERSECUTION.  377 

"  You  go  too  far,"  replied  the  viceroy.  "  I  did  cause  you  to 
be  conducted  here.  I  sent  to  you  one  of  the  first  dignitaries 
of  my  court,  the  cadi ;  I  did  this  to  honor  you.  To  be  thus 
conducted  by  the  cadi  through  the  street  is  not  disgraceful,  as 
in  the  case  of  the  women  you  speak  of.  In  your  own  carriage 
you  were  escorted  by  the  cadi  and  his  servants,  and  your  good 
name  and  honor,  which  I  respect  in  common  with  all  the 
world,  cannot  have  suffered  thereby.  Yet  your  conduct  has 
been  culpable,  you  are  responsible  for  your  kachef's  deeds  ; 
and  through  him  I  accuse  you  of  treason,  and  you,  Nefysseh, 
must  suffer  for  your  servant's  crime." 

"Then,  take  my  life,  if  that  will  benefit  you,"  said  she, 
quietly.  "I  have  nothing  to  give  you  but  that.  If  you  take 
my  life,  you  will  be  accused  of  murder,  and,  believe,  this  accu- 
sation will  be  heard  by  all  Cairo.  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say.  Deal  with  me  as  you  think  proper." 

"  You  challenge  my  enmity,  you  shall  have  it !  It  were 
wise  on  your  part  to  beg  me  to  pardon  Youssouf,  to  withdraw 
the  accusation,  and  to  declare  yourself  ready  to  pay  the  re- 
quired sum  to  my  soldiers." 

"Where  is  Mourad  Bey's  widow  to  obtain  the  money? 
Your  men  have  remained  in  my  house,  let  them  search  for 
treasure  there.  Let  them  take  what  they  find.  Mourad's 
widow  is  poor,  and  your  endeavor  is  vain.  You  will  find 
nothing  of  value  in  my  house  ;  long  wars  have  made  Mourad's 
widow  poor.  And,  if  I  had  money,  I  would  rather  cast  it  into 
the  Nile,  than  to  give  it  to  the  enemies  of  my  husband  ! — Now 
I  have  spoken  and  relieved  my  heart.  Now  do  with  me  as 
you  think  proper,  Cousrouf.  This  I  will,  however,  repeat,  my 
kachef  Youssouf  did  not  write  the  characters  on  that  paper. 
He  is  not  capable  of  corrupting  men  from  their  allegiance. 
Do  you  desire  my  life  ?  If  so,  take  it !  But  if  you  venture  to 
do  so,  prepare  yourself  to  meet  all  Cairo  in  insurrection.  Al- 
lah is  just  !  You  will  then  see  all  Cairo,  held  by  you  in  fet- 
ters until  now,  rise  up  and  burst  its  bonds,  and  shake  its  mane 
in  lion-like  wrath." 

"  We  shall  see  if  our  lion  really  rises  in  its  wrath,  when  I, 
as  I  am  in  duty  bound,  do  justice  to  those  who  have  done 
wrong  and  committed  crimes  ! " 
25 


378  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

He  arose  from  his  divan,  stepped  to  the  door,  and  called 
one  of  his  servants.  In  answer  to  his  call,  a  servant  hastened 
into  the  room. 

"  Conduct  Sitta  Nefysseh  to  the  house  of  Sheik  Hesseyni, 
who  lives  in  the  old  citadel ;  tell  him  to  guard  her  well,  and 
not  to  allow  any  one  to  see  her." 

"Tell  him,  cadi,"  said  Nefysseh,  quietly,  "tell  him  to  guard 
me  as  every  jailor  guards  his  prisoner  ;  that  is  the  true  mean- 
ing of  the  viceroy's  words.  Farewell,  Cousrouf — I  am  going 
to  my  prison  !  May  your  conscience  reproach  you  as  little  as 
mine  does  me  !  Farewell ! " 

She  drew  her  veil  over  her  countenance,  and  slowly  left 
the  apartment.  At  the  door  sat  her  two  women  weeping  and 
sobbing.  She  commanded  them  to  follow  her,  and  walked  on 
as  composedly  as  if  she  were  the  princess  of  this  palace.  She 
swept  down  the  marble  stairway  to  her  carriage,  as  if  about  to 
take  a  drive. 

"  Sitta  Nefysseh,  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  enter  your  car- 
riage," said  the  cadi,  who  had  followed  her.  "  We  shall  only 
have  to  pass  through  that  little  side-door  to  be  in  the  sheik's 
house." 

"Ah,  you  desire  to  prevent  the  people,  who  are  calling  so 
loudly  after  me,  from  seeing  me  in  my  degradation,  or  rather 
the  degradation  of  those  who  tread  law  and  propriety  under 
foot  in  their  treatment  of  me." 

"Sitta  Nefysseh.  I  know  nothing  of  the  charges  made 
against  you,"  replied  the  cadi,  gruffly.  "  I  obey  the  orders  of 
the  viceroy  ;  the  rest  does  not  concern  me." 

''  That  is  certainly  the  most  convenient  course,"  said  she, 
derisively,  and  quietly  submitting  when  he  took  hold  of  her 
arm  and  led  her  across  the  court  to  the  little  gate  in  the  wall. 
The  women  followed  her.  Their  tears  no  longer  flowed,  and 
they  seemed  to  consider  themselves  happy  in  being  at  least 
allowed  to  accompany  their  mistress. 

Dense  masses  of  people  still  stood  without.  They  called 
loudly  for  Sitta  Nefysseh,  swearing  by  Allah  that  they  would 
not  leave  until  she  should  be  released.  But  what  can  the 
poor,  defenceless  people  do  when  confronted  by  armed  soldiers, 
ready  to  fire  destructive  volleys  among  them  ?  What  can  they 


PERSECUTION.  379 

do  but  sullenly  retire  under  such,  circumstances  ?  This  they 
now  did.  About  the  citadel  quiet  now  reigned,  but  the  streets 
below  were  still  thronged  with  dense  crowds,  from  out  whose 
midst  the  cries  continually  resounded  :  "Sitta  Nefysseh  has 
been  arrested  !  She  has  been  shamefully  conducted  through 
the  streets  to  the  citadel  by  the  police  !  She  has  been  pub- 
licly insulted  !  She,  the  noblest  of  women,  is  accused  of  a 
great  crime  !  " 

When  night  came,  the  excitement  and  fury  of  the  popu- 
lace had  not  yet  subsided.  Early  on  the  morning  of  the  fol- 
lowing day,  dense  masses  of  people  surged  to  the  house 
where  Hesseyni,  the  chief  sheik  of  the  city,  resided,  and  de- 
manded with  loud  clamors  that  he  should  liberate  Sitta 
Nefysseh. 

The  sheik  had  given  serious  consideration  to  this  difficult 
and  embarrassing  case,  and,  before  the  people  forced  an  en- 
trance, had  already  determined  to  comply  with  their  de- 
mands. 

In  solemn  procession,  their  green  turbans  on  their  heads, 
and  enveloped  in  their  long  flowing  caftans,  with  their  costly 
ermine  collars,  the  entire  body  of  sheiks  repaired  on  foot  to 
the  palace.  With  grave  and  solemn  bearing,  these  repre- 
sentatives of  public  justice  demanded  that  they  should  be  con- 
ducted to  the  viceroy's  presence. 

He  received  them  in  his  apartment,  advancing  to  meet 
them  with  a  kindly  greeting. 

"  What  do  you  desire,  friends  ?  You  know  I  am  always 
glad  to  hear  the  wishes  of  the  people  as  pronounced  by  you, 
their  representatives." 

"  Then  listen  to  these  wishes,  highness ! "  said  one  of  the 
sheiks.  "The  people,  and  we  with  them,  desire  that  Sitta 
Nefysseh,  who  was  yesterday  forcibly  taken  from  her  house, 
be  permitted  to  return  to  the  same.  Her  house  has  been 
shamefully  ill-used,  Cousrouf  Pacha  !  Your  police  have 
treated  it  like  the  house  of  an  enemy.  Nothing  has  remained 
in  its  place  ;  every  thing  is  overturned  and  thrown  about. 
They  were  looking  for  treasure,  highness,  and  they  found 
nothing.  Sitta  Nefysseh  was  considered  rich,  and  that  was 
perhaps  her  crime  ;  or  will  your  highness  be  kind  enough 


380  MOHAMMED   ALT  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

to  inform  us  if  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  accused  of  any  other 
crime  !" 

"  She  is,"  replied  Cousrouf .  "  She  is  accused  of  the  most 
shameful  of  all  crimes.  Her  kachef  attempted  to  corrupt  one 
of  my  soldiers,  offering  him  double  pay  if  he  would  desert  to 
the  army  of  the  rebellious  Mamelukes." 

"  Is  that  proven,  highness  ? "  asked  the  sheik. 

"  It  is  proven  !  I  possess  written  proof  of  the  fact.  Here 
it  is  ;  read  it  for  yourselves.  This  attempt  has  excited  the 
just  wrath  of  my  good  soldiers.  Believe  it  was  in  order  to 
protect  Sitta  Nefysseh  from  the  fury  of  my  soldiers  that  I 
called  her  here.  I  repeat  it,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  Mourad  Bey's 
widow,  has  endeavored  to  corrupt,  and  has  offered  my  soldiers 
double  pay.  She  is  now  in  my  power,  and  I  will  punish  her  ; 
yet,  I  will  be  merciful  on  your  account.  Let  her  do  as  she 
offered — let  her  give  my  soldiers  their  pay,  and  her  offence 
shall  be  overlooked  this  time." 

"  That  would  be  a  punishment  not  prescribed  by  law,"  re- 
plied the  sheik,  quietly.  "  If  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  really  guilty 
of  the  crime  of  which  you  accuse  her,  she  is  indeed  very  cul- 
pable, highness  ;  but  she  can  not  atone  for  it  with  money. 
Her  guilt  must,  however,  be  proven  ;  and  it  devolves  upon  us, 
the  representatives  of  public  justice,  to  consider  and  deter- 
mine whether  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  guilty  or  not." 

"  Does  not  my  word  suffice  ?  "  cried  Cousrouf,  passionately. 
"  I  tell  you  that  she  is  guilty,  that  I  have  proof  of  her  guilt, 
and  I  declare  that  this  suffices.  I  repeat  what  I  have  said,  if 
she  pays  my  soldiers  she  is  free. " 

u  That  does  not  suffice  ! "  replied  the  sheik.  "  We  must 
first  know  whether  Sitta  Nefysseh  confesses  herself  guilty. 
In  accordance  with  the  law  and  with  your  permission,  high- 
ness, let  two  of  the  sheiks  go  to  Sitta  Nefysseh  and  ask  her  if 
she  confesses  herself  guilty  ;  and,  further,  what  she  has  to  say 
in  her  defence.  This  is  just,  and  this  must  be  done." 

"Do  as  you  say.  Go  to  her.  But  her  own  declaration  of 
her  innocence  will  not  suffice  for  me.  She  must  have  as 
much  proof  of  her  innocence  as  I  have  of  her  guilt.  Go  to 
Sitta  Nefysseh.  You  will  find  her  in  the  house  of  Sheik 
Hesseyni." 


PERSECUTION.  381 

With  a  profound  bow  the  sheiks  withdrew  from  the  vice- 
roy's apartment  and  repaired  to  the  house  of  Sheik  Hesseyni. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  greeted  the  cadis  and  sheiks  with  profound 
deference  and  perfect  composure. 

'•  I  see,"  said  she,  gently,  "  you  believe  in  my  innocence, 
and  know  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  guilty  of  no  crime,  and  has 
been  unjustly  covered  with  shame." 

"  We  well  know  that  you  have  committed  no  crime,"  said 
the  sheik.  "  The  viceroy,  however,  accuses  you  of  having  at- 
tempted to  corrupt  his  soldiers  through  your  kachef  ;  tell  us, 
is  this  true  ? " 

"  You  well  know  that  it  is  not  true  !  Why  should  I  do  it, 
and  how  could  I  be  so  foolish  as  to  attempt  such  a  thing  ?  I 
give  you  my  word,  I  swear  by  the  memory  of  Mourad  Bey,  I 
am  innocent  of  the  crime  of  which  I  am  accused.  I  have  not 
attempted  to  corrupt  the  soldiers  of  Cousrouf  Pacha,  nor  have 
I  authorized  my  kachef  to  do  so.  Believe  me,  I  speak  the 
truth.  But,  tell  me,  was  that  all  the  viceroy  said  ?  I  think  I 
see  through  his  plans,  and  understand  this  accusation.  Did 
he  not  name  the  punislAnent  he  intended  to  inflict  on 
me?" 

"  He  did.  You  are  to  be  set  at  liberty  as  soon  as  you  pay 
his  soldiers — what  he  maintains  you  promised — their  double 
pay." 

"Is  it  not  as  I  said  ? "  cried  she,  in  derisive  tones.  "  Cous- 
rouf Pacha  wants  money  !  He  has  heard  stories  of  my  wealth, 
and  believes  me  rich  ;  and  now,  relying  on  a  woman's  timidity, 
he  endeavors  to  extort  money  from  me.  He  wants  money, 
and  therefore  makes  this  shameful  charge.  Go,  I  beg  you,  to 
the  viceroy,  and  tell  him  Mourad's  widow  is  poor,  and  has 
nothing  with  which  to  appease  his  rapacity.  Let  him  take 
my  life  if  he  will.  I  am  innocent,  and  if  he  causes  me  to  be 
put  to  death,  I  shall  charge  him  with  murder  at  Allah's  foot- 
stool !  I  have  nothing  else  to  give  him.  Let  him  deal  with 
me  as  he  thinks  proper." 

"  We  will  tell  him  all  you  say,  for  you  are  in  the  right, 
Sitta  Nefysseh,"  replied  the  sheik.  "  And  if  you  possessed  all 
the  wealth  of  Egypt,  with  the  millions  that  lie  buried  in  its 
deserts,  you  would  be  justified  in  secreting  them  from  the 


382  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

tyranny  and  fraud  that  seek  to  extort  from  you  your  property. 
We  will  therefore  defend  you  to  the  best  of  our  ability. — 
Come,  sheiks,  let  us  return  to  the  viceroy." 

They  repaired  to  the  citadel,  and  told  the  viceroy  what  had 
passed. 

"She  is  really  poor,  highness,"  said  the  cadi.  "She  de- 
clares her  innocence.  She  does  not  possess  the  treasure  you 
speak  of,  and  therefore  she  can  not  comply  with  your  de- 
mands. Her  house  has  been  searched  through,  and,  as  you 
are  aware,  nothing  has  been  found." 

"  No,  nothing  has  been  found,"  said  the  viceroy  to  himself, 
stepping  back  and  walking  thoughtfully  to  and  fro.  "  A  fear- 
ful thought  occurs  to  me  !  Mohammed  Ali  may  have  ad- 
vised me  to  take  this  step  with  an  evil  purpose,  seeking  my 
destruction.  He  hates  me  in  his  heart  !  I  was  a  fool  to  allow 
myself  to  be  persuaded  to  stretch  out  my  hand  after  this 
woman's  wealth.  But  I  will  be  avenged  on  Mohammed  ! 
However,  having  once  embarked  in  this  undertaking,  I  will 
at  least  endeavor  to  withdraw  from  it  creditably.  I  must 
give  myself  the  appearance  of  still  believing  in  Sitta  Nefys- 
seh's  guilt." 

He  turned  to  the  sheiks,  who  were  awaiting  his  decision  in 
respectful  silence.  In  haughty  terms  he  declined  to  admit 
that  he  had  been  deceived,  and  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  was  inno- 
cent. 

"The  accused  must  be  punished!  "  cried  Cousrouf,  in  loud 
and  threatening  tones. 

The  cadi  drew  himself  up  and  gazed  firmly  at  the  vice- 
roy. 

"  Highness,  our  patience  is  now  at  an  end.  We  have 
sought  to  obtain  justice  by  peaceful  entreaties.  You  refuse  it, 
and  your  refusal  is  an  insult  to  us,  the  servants  of  our  holy 
religion,  and  the  representatives  of  the  people.  Here,  we  have 
therefore  nothing  more  to  say  or  to  do.  Nothing  is  left  us  but 
to  depart  and  repair  to  the  mosque  of  El-Azar,  where  the  head 
of  the  martyr  Sel-Kosyn  is  buried.  There  we  will  gather  the 
people  about  us  and  decide  as  justice  shall  require. — Come,  ye 
sheiks,  let  us  go  to  the  mosque  !  " 

"  Do  so  !  "  cried  Cousrouf,  haughtily.     "  But,  let  me  tell 


MONEY !     PAY !  383 

you  this  :  if  you  excite  the  people  to  revolt,  my  cannon  shall 
thunder  among  you  !  You  will  be  responsible  for  the  conse- 
quences." 

They  made  no  reply,  but  turned  and  left  the  apartment. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MONEY  !      PAY  ! 

WITHOUT  in  the  vestibule  they  met  Mustapha,  the  guardian 
of  the  revenues  of  the  holy  temple  of  Mecca.  Beside  him 
stood  several  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Cairo.  They  had  come 
to  settle  amicably,  if  possible,  the  grave  difficulty  between  the 
viceroy  and  the  sheiks. 

"  Do  not  let  it  come  to  extremes,  cadi,"  said  the  oualy,  in 
warning  tones.  "  You  know  the  viceroy  is  very  powerful,  and 
his  fierce  soldiers  take  delight  in  slaughter." 

"  No,  do  not  let  it  come  to  extremes,"  said  the  others,  join- 
ing in  his  entreaty.  "  Consider  that  they  are  strong,  and  we 
are  weak." 

u  No  we  are  strong,  for  we  are  in  the  right,"  said  the  cadi. 
"  We  cannot  allow  justice  to  be  set  at  defiance,  and  the  noblest 
of  the  women  of  Cairo  to  be  shamefully  insulted.  The  people 
look  to  us,  their  representatives,  to  protect  them,  and  woe  to 
us  if  we  fail  to  discharge  our  duty!  Come,  let  us  to  the 
mosque,  and  there  render  to  the  people  an  account  of  what  we 
have  done." 

"Do  this  at  your  peril  !"  cried  Mustapha.  "  O  cadi,  the 
viceroy  is  resolute  and  defies  us  with  his  troops.  Let  me  at 
least  make  an  attempt  to  settle  the  matter  peaceably." 

"  Let  him  do  so,"  cried  the  others.  At  last,  the  cadi  con- 
sented to  wait  until  the  oualy  should  have  seen  the  viceroy. 

"  If  he  liberates  Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  allows  you  to  conduct 
her  through  the  streets,  will  you  be  satisfied  ? " 

"  Not  satisfied,  but  we  will  demand  nothing  more,"  said  the 
cadi,  ''  although  the  viceroy  should  be  required  to  confess,  pub- 
licly, that  the  accusation  is  unjust." 


384:  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"That  is  too  much.  This  the  viceroy  cannot  and  will  not 
do,"  cried  the  oualy.  "  Be  contented  if  he  sets  the  Sitta  at  lib- 
erty, and  allows  you  to  show  her  to  the  people." 

k'  But  we  demand,  in  addition,"  said  the  cadi,  "that  he  with- 
draw his  police  from  her  house." 

''  That  he  has  already  done,"  said  the  oualy,  smiling1.  "  Not 
finding  what  they  sought,  the  soldiers  have  quietly  with- 
drawn." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  at  once  to  the  viceroy,  and  endeavor  to 
soften  his  severity,"  cried  Mustapha  Aga.  "  Await  my  return 
here." 

Mustapha  hastened  to  the  viceroy's  apartment.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  returned,  his  countenance  radiant  with  de- 
light. 

"  Ye  men,  the  viceroy  has  graciously  accorded  what  we  de- 
mand, and  you  are  to  conduct  the  Sitta  in  triumph  through 
the  city.  What,  cadi  !  you  receive  this  intelligence  calmly 
and  gloomily  ? " 

"  The  times  are  gloomy  and  lowering,"  said  the  cadi.  "  That 
the  viceroy  sets  the  Sitta  at  liberty  proves  only  that  he  had  no 
right  to  arrest  her,  and  that  the  viceroy  does  right  or  wrong  at 
his  own  pleasure.  That  saddens  me.  Come,  let  us  go  after 
Sitta  Nefysseh." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Mustapha.  "  The  viceroy  annexes 
a  little  condition  to  his  consent." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  cadi,  quietly. 

"  The  viceroy  requires  that  the  Sitta  shall  not  return  to  her 
house,  as  he  has  been  informed  that  she  often  receives  the  vis- 
its of  the  Mameluke  chieftains  there.  Her  house  is  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city,  and  it  is  difficult  to  observe  those  who  enter 
and  leave  it.  It  is  peculiarly  accessible  to  the  enemy,  and  the 
viceroy  therefore  requires  that  Sitta  Nefysseh  shall  no  longer 
reside  there,  but  in  the  house  of  Sheik  Sadat.  She  cannot  re- 
fuse to  do  this." 

"  And  she  will  not,"  said  Sheik  Sadat.  "  No,  she  will  not 
refuse  to  honor  the  abode  of  her  old  friend  with  her  presence. 
Come,  let  us  go." 

They  then  repaired  at  once  to  the  house  of  Sheik  Hesseyni, 
who,  already  informed  of  what  had  taken  place,  came  forward 


MONEY !     PAY !  385 

to  meet  them,  leading  Sitta  Nefysseh.     She  extended  her  hand 
to  the  cadi,  and  then  turned  to  Sadat : 

"  Will  you  receive  me  into  your  dwelling  ?  Will  you  ex- 
tend your  hospitality  to  the  poor  woman  who  has  been  driven 
from  her  own  home  ?  " 

"  Welcome  to  my  house,  Sitta  !  "  cried  Sadat.  "  It  seems 
to  me  that  with  you  my  noble  friend  Mourad  Bey  will  also 
cross  my  threshold  once  more.  Your  presence  in  my  humble 
house  will  do  me  great  honor.  How  delighted  my  wives  will 
be  to  receive  you  ! " 

The  people  had  again  assembled  in  front  of  the  gates  of  the 
citadel.  As  these  were  now  opened,  and  Sitta  Nefysseh  ap- 
peared coming  toward  them  in  the  midst  of  her  escort,  the  peo- 
ple recognized  her  queenly  figure  and  bearing,  although  her 
face  was  veiled.  Shouts  of  delight  rent  the  air.  "  Long  live 
Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  the  cadi  !  Praised  be  Allah  that  we  have 
a  cadi  who  enforces  our  rights  !  " 

Cousrouf  sat  on  his  divan  in  his  apartment.  He  heard  this 
cry,  and  muttered  between  his  teeth,  "  These  rebels  shall  pay 
for  this  ! " 

The  shouting  populace  conducted  Sitta  Nefysseh  in  triumph 
through  the  streets.  The  cadi  was  loudly  applauded,  and  the 
viceroy  derided. 

These  shouts  were  not  only  heard  by  the  viceroy,  but  also 
by  Mohammed  Ali  in  his  silent  chamber,  and  they  brought  a 
smile  to  his  lips.  He  had  stayed  in  his  apartments  all  day, 
and  had  also  commanded  his  soldiers  to  remain  in  their  quar- 
ters. 

"  It  works  well,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  These  shouts  show 
how  good  was  the  advice  I  gave  him.  Shrewd  as  you  are, 
Cousrouf,  you  are  beaten  at  your  own  game.  The  people  are 
contented  to  know  you,  enthroned  in  the  citadel.  They 
dreamed  of  happiness  and  peace,  and  called  you  a  just  ruler. 
I  have  opened  their  eyes.  To-day,  they  know  Cousrouf  to  be 
an  unjust  ruler,  and  love  him  no  longer.  You  enraged  them 
most  when  you  dared  to  insult  the  woman  who  is  most  hon- 
ored in  Cairo.  From  this  moment,  not  only  the  men,  but, 
what  is  far  worse,  the  women,  are  arrayed  against  you." 

He  had  risen  and  was  walking  to  and  fro  in  his  apartment. 


386  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

From  time  to  time  he  stopped  at  the  window  to  listen  to  the 
cries  that  resounded  from  the  streets,  and  then  resumed  his 
walking1. 

u  What  curses  good  Cousrouf  must  be  invoking  upon  my 
head  at  this  moment !  He  will  have  discovered  by  this  time 
that  his  good  friend  Mohammed  still  somewhat  resembles  the 
'  insolent  lad,'  as  he  always  called  him,  of  Cavalla.  You  have 
schooled  me  well,  Cousrouf  ;  you  have  converted  the  insolent 
lad  into  a  lion  who  wears  the  skin  of  a  fox.  You  were  pleased 
with  the  fox,  stroked  his  fur,  and  called  him  your  devoted 
servant.  But,  only  wait,  the  fox-skin  will  soon  fall  to  the 
ground  and  disclose  the  lion  ready  to  destroy  you.  Yes,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  wait  but  a  few  days  longer,  and  this  transforma- 
tion shall  take  place.  It  must  take  place.  The  week  will 
soon  have  elapsed,  and  then  Bardissi  must  have  my  an- 
swer. Cousrouf  shall  hear  it  and  quake  in  his  citadel.  Every 
thing  is  ready,  and  my  new  friends  shall  soon  hear  from 
me." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  before  the  window  and  listened  atten- 
tively. Fierce  and  savage  cries  had  succeeded  the  shouts  of 
joy.  The  voices  of  women  and  children  were  now  hushed, 
and  the  hoarse  tones  of  men  only  could  be  heard.  He  hastily 
stepped  back  from  the  window.  No,  he  must  not  be  seen.  If 
seen,  he  might  be  called  and  compelled  to  join  in  the  move- 
ment against  his  will,  and  the  time  has  not  yet  come.  He 
must  still  wait. 

He  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  listened  to  the 
uproar  that  came. 

u  This  is  revolt  !  These  are  soldiers  !  "  said  he  to  himself, 
stepping  to  the  door  of  the  antechamber,  and  beckoning  to  a 
slave.  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  uproar  ? " 

"  I  know  not.  sarechsme.     Shall  I  go  down  to  inquire  ? " 

"  Go  down,  mingle  with  the  crowd,  and  find  out  what  it 
means,  and  then  return  to  me  as  quickly  as  possible." 

The  Nubian  hastened  to  do  his  master's  bidding.  Moham- 
med continued  to  walk  to  and  fro.  The  uproar,  as  it  came 
nearer,  had  become  intelligible. 

"  We  want  money  !  Give  us  bread  !  We  are  hungry,  and 
must  have  our  pay  ! " 


MONEY!    PAY!  387 

Such  were  the  savage  cries  that  resounded  from  the  street 
below. 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  said  Mohammed  to  himself  ;  "  these 
are  Taher  Pacha's  soldiers  1  He  has  marched  with  them  into 
the  city,  to  begin  the  work  on  his  own  account ;  Taher  is  am- 
bitious, and  wants  the  viceroy's  throne.  He  begins  the  work 
of  rebellion  for  himself,  he  will  end  it  for  me  ;  though  I  can 
as  yet  take  no  active  part  in  it  !  O  Sitta  Nefysseh,  you  have 
brought  me  a  s'tep  nearer  to  the  throne,  and  Taher  is  advanc- 
ing me  another.  Wait,  Mohammed,  only  wait." 

The  Nubian  returned  and  announced  that  a  revolt  had 
broken  out  among  Taher  Pacha's  soldiers.  They  had  gone  to 
the  citadel,  and  savagely  demanded  their  pay.  The  viceroy 
had  received  a  deputation  sent  by  them,  and  told  them  to  go 
to  the  defterdar,  and  demand  payment  of  him  in  the  viceroy's 
name.  In  accordance  with  this  demand,  the  soldiers  had  then 
repaired  to  the  house  of  the  defterdar,  and  had,  upon  admis- 
sion being  denied  them,  broken  down  the  doors.  The  minister 
of  finance,  however,  rid  himself  of  them  by  telling  them  to 
demand  their  pay  of  Mohammed  Ali,  who  had  a  few  days  be- 
fore received  ten  purses  of  gold  from  the  viceroy  for  the  pay- 
ment of  the  troops. 

"  And  now  the  soldiers  have  come  here,"  said  the  Nubian, 
in  deferential,  anxious  tones.  "They  have  surrounded  the 
house,  and  demand  their  pay.  They  are  furious,  and  swear 
by  Allah  and  the  prophet  that  they  will  not  rest  until  they 
have  received  the  money  due  them.  They  complain,  too,  of 
being  sent  from  house  to  house  like  beggars." 

"  The  poor  fellows  are  right,"  said  Mohammed. 

Fierce  cries  now  resounded  from  below  : 

"  We  will  not  be  trodden  under  foot  like  dogs  !  We  are 
no  beggars  !  Give  us  our  pay,  Mohammed  Ali  !  The  defter- 
dar sends  us  to  you  !  You  have  our  money,  and  we  want  it !  " 

He  sprang  to  the  window,  tore  it  open,  and,  in  tones  that 
were  heard  above  the  uproar,  commanded  silence. 

"  The  defterdar  has  deceived  you.  I  have  no  money  !  I 
will  come  down  to  you." 

He  quickly  stepped  back  from  the  window,  and  laid  the 
sword,  dagger,  and  pistols,  that  hung  in  his  belt,  on  the  table. 


388  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

"  They  shall  see  that  I  am  not  alarmed.  I  will  go  down  to 
them  unarmed." 

No,  Mohammed  All  is  not  alarmed,  they  all  perceive 
as  he  appears  among  them  unarmed,  and  motions  the  sol- 
diers, that  are  rushing  upon  him,  back,  with  a  wave  of  the 
hand. 

"Stand  back,  soldiers,  and  do  not  forget  that  I  am  the 
sarechsme.  Not  your  general,  but  yet,  like  you,  in  the  vice- 
roy's service." 

"Does  he  also  pay  you  as  he  does  us  ?"  asked  a  soldier,  in 
mocking  tones.  "  Do  they  also  give  you  empty  promises  in- 
stead of  money  ? " 

"That  is  an  insolent  question,"  said  he.  "I  will,  how- 
ever, answer  it,  because  I  choose  to  do  so.  They  do  not  pay 
me.  They  gave  the  sarechsme,  after  he  had  waited  in  vain 
for  many  months,  ten  purses  of  gold  ;  they  owe  him  more. 
Ask  my  soldiers  what  I  did  with  this  money.  I  shared  it 
with  my  soldiers  as  a  general  should.  I  retained  five  purses, 
for  this  amount  was  due  my  creditors.  The  other  five  purses 
I  gave  to  my  soldiers — not  as  their  pay,  the  viceroy  owes  them 
that,  but  as  a  present  from  me.  I  have  received  no  other 
money — I  swear  to  this  by  Allah  and  the  prophet.  Go  to  my 
soldiers  and  ask  them  if  this  is  not  true,  and  then  do  as  you 
think  proper." 

"Long  live  Mohammed  Ali  !  Long  live  the  generous 
sarechsme  ! "  cried  one  of  the  soldiers,  and  the  cry  was  taken 
up  and  repeated  by  all  the  rest. 

"  It  is  needless  to  go  to  the  soldiers,  for  the  sarechsme  tells 
the  truth.  Let  us  return  to  the  defterdar  ;  he  must  and  shall 
pay  us ! " 

The  revolting  soldiers  surged  on  up  the  street.  Moham- 
med, however,  returned  to  his  solitary  apartments  with  a 
clearer  brow  and  a  more  derisive  smile  on  his  lips  : 

"  This  was  well  done,  and  can  tend  only  to  my  advantage. 
Taher  Pacha  will  not  be  much  pleased,  either,  when  his  soldiers 
tell  him  of  the  presents  made  by  me  to  mine.  The  waves  are 
surging  higher  and  higher,  but  I  see  the  boat  in  which  I  am  to 
ride  over  them  safely.  The  golden  oars  only  are  wanting, 
but  I  shall  find  them,  too  !" 


MONEY!    PAY!  389 

He  called  the  Nubian,  and  commanded  him  to  tell  his  bim 
bashis  he  desired  to  see  them.  And  when  they  came  he  con- 
versed with  them  for  a  long  time,  and  gave  them  his  orders. 
The  soldiers  were  to  remain  quietly  in  their  quarters,  and  not 
to  mingle  with  the  revolters. 

"  Wait  quietly  for  three  hours,  and,  if  you  receive  no  mes- 
sage from  me  by  that  time,  bim  bashis,  you  may  allow  the 
soldiers  to  go  out  and  satisfy  their  curiosity.  Now  go  and 
wait  until  then." 

The  insurgents  had  again  repaired  to  the  house  of  the  def- 
terdar,  situated  on  the  square  of  the  Esbekieh. 

For  the  second  time  they  fiercely  demanded  money,  and 
called  for  the  defterdar  with  such  savage  cries  that  he  was 
compelled  to  show  himself. 

Deathly  pale,  and  trembling  in  every  limb,  he  came  out 
upon  the  balcony  of  the  second  story,  bowed  in  every  direc- 
tion, and  begged  the  soldiers  to  listen  to  him.  The  uproar 
subsided  for  a  moment.  He  entreated  them  to  be  patient  for 
a  few  days,  promising  to  procure  money  for  them,  to  have  it 
brought  from  Alexandria  to  meet  their  just  demands. 

''  No  ! "  cried  one  of  the  soldiers,  raising  his  fist  threaten- 
ingly, "  we  have  waited  long  enough,  and  will  wait  no  longer  ! 
We  are  hungry.  Pay  us  ! " 

"  No  ! "  cried  another,  "  we  will  wait  no  longer  !  If  the 
defterdar  does  not  pay  up  we  will  tear  him  to  pieces,  and  pay 
ourselves  with  his  flesh  ! " 

"  Let  us  surround  his  house,  and  keep  him  prisoner  until 
he  gives  us  our  pay  ! v  yelled  the  soldiers,  as  they  scaled  the 
garden-wall  and  surrounded  the  house. 

The  terrified  defterdar  sent  a  messenger  through  a  secret 
passage  into  the  street,  to  convey  intelligence  of  what  had 
happened  to  the  viceroy. 

"Have  pity  on  your  defterdar,  highness.  The  soldiers 
have  broken  into  his  house,  and  he  is  in  their  power.  Help 
me  !  Subdue  the  revolt  by  paying  the  soldiers  ! " 

Cousrouf  received  this  intelligence  with  wrath. 

"  Are  all  the  devils  let  loose  ?  Hardly  have  I  been  com- 
pelled to  liberate  this  insolent  woman,  when  I  am  defied  by 
rebellious  soldiers.  They  shall  be  taught  that  I  am  master, 


390  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

and  that  to  threaten  me  is  to  destroy  themselves.  Let  the 
artillerists  stand  by  their  guns,  with  burning  fuses,  and  await 
my  orders  !  Let  the  soldiers  be  drawn  up  around  the  fortress 
with  loaded  muskets  !  And  you,  messenger,  go  back  to  your 
master,  and  tell  him  to  send  the  rebels  to  me.  I  will  give 
them  the  reception  they  deserve." 

The  messenger  returned  by  the  same  secret  passage  to  his 
master,  and  delivered  the  viceroy's  message,  and  the  delighted 
defterdar  presented  himself  on  the  balcony  once  more. 

"  Go  to  the  citadel,  to  the  viceroy,  he  will  receive  you,  and 
give  you  your  money  ;  I  have  none  ! " 

"  Allah  il  Allah  ! "  cried  the  soldiers.  "  The  viceroy  is  a 
great  man  !  He  will  deal  justly  with  us  ! " 

The  dense  masses  of  rebels  surged  up  the  Muskj  Street  to- 
ward the  citadel.  They  have  reached  their  destination.  There 
stands  the  citadel.  But  what  does  this  mean  ?  The  gates  are 
closed.  u  The  viceroy  has  sent  for  us  ;  we  wish  to  see  him  to 
demand  our  pay  ! "  Suddenly  the  guns  of  the  fortress  hurl 
their  deadly  contents  among  them.  "  We  are  betrayed  ! 
They  are  murdering  us  ! "  yell  the  infuriated  rebels,  drawing 
their  ataghans,  and  rushing  upon  the  Turkish  soldiers  who 
are  endeavoring  to  drive  them  from  the  citadel,  fightingthem 
man  to  man.  And  now  the  three  hours  have  elapsed,  and 
new  masses  of  soldiers  are  storming  up  the  height !  These  are 
Mohammed  Ali's  troops,  now  let  loose  !  Like  the  others,  they 
clamor  for  pay.  and,  like  the  others,  they  rush  upon  the  Turk- 
ish soldiers.  The  revolt  is  now  general. 

Taher  Pacha,  as  well  as  Mohammed  Ali,  hears  it ;  but  the 
latter  remains  quietly  in  his  room.  Taher  Pacha,  less  discreet, 
hastens  forth  to  suppress,  or,  if  the  prospect  seems  favorable, 
to  encourage  the  revolt.  He  repairs  to  the  citadel  and  sends 
the  viceroy  word  that  he  desires  an  audience. 

"  Tell  his  highness  I  wish  to  restore  the  city  to  tranquillity  ; 
and,  if  possible,  appease  the  soldiers." 

The  messenger  soon  returns  with  a  dejected  look.  "It  is 
in  vain,  general,  in  vain  !  His  highness  desires  no  peaceful 
settlement.  He  says  he  will  make  no  compromise  with  rebels  ! 
You  are  to  return  to  your  house  ;  he  says  he  can  dispose  of 
these  rebels  without  any  assistance  1 " 


MONEY!     PAY!  391 

u  Is  that  his  opinion  ? "  asked  Taher,  bowing  profoundly. 
"  The  wisdom  of  the  viceroy  is  inscrutable.  I  retire,  as  he 
commands." 

He  hastily  quitted  the  apartment,  went  down  to  his  soldiers 
and  called  his  him  bashis  to  his  side. 

"  I  was  with  his  highness,  and  endeavored  to  settle  this  dif- 
ficulty without  further  bloodshed.  But  he  declined,  and  said 
there  could  be  no  settlement  between  you  and  him  except  at 
the  cannon's  mouth,  and  that  he  would  pay  you  with  your 
own  blood  ! '' 

The  soldiers  answered  their  general's  words  with  a  fierce 
roar  ;  when  this  at  last  subsided,  he  continued  :  "  The  viceroy 
says  the  defterdar  is  to  pay  you — that  you  must  look  to  him. 
Let  us  do  so,  soldiers  !  Let  us  compel  him  to  pay  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  shall  pay  us  ! "  cried  they  ;  and  the  wild  masses 
again  rushed  to  the  house  of  the  defterdar. 

The  closed  gates  are  torn  asunder  ;  and  Taher  Pacha's  Ar- 
menians and  Mohammed  Ali's  Albanians  run  with  savage 
cries  into  the  house. 

"  I  have  no  money  !  "  cries  the  defterdar,  with  pale,  trem- 
bling lips. 

"  Where  are  your  books,  your  accounts  ?  We  will  take 
you,  together  with  your  books,  to  our  general." 

"  Do  so,  do  so  1 "  groaned  the  defterdar,  pointing  to  his 
books.  "  Take  me,  with  my  books,  to  Taher  Pacha." 

Onward  the  wild  mass  surged  with  their  prisoner  and  his 
accounts. 

They  passed  the  house  of  Mohammed  Ali,  who  stood  at  the 
window,  and  looked  down  at  them  with  a  smile  of  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  The  revolt  is  firmly  established  ;  Taher  Pacha  is  at  its 
head,  and  we  shall  see  how  he  conducts  the  matter." 


392  MOHAMMED   AL1  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  INSURRECTION. 

FROM  the  citadel  the  thunder  of  the  artillery  and  the  fierce 
shouts  of  the  people  still  resounded.  Mohammed  heard  the  up- 
roar throughout  the  entire  night.  The  soldiers  continually 
pressed  forward  to  replace  their  comrades  shot  down  by  the 
murderous  volleys  from  the  fortress. 

Mohammed  remained  quietly  in  his  house.  True,  his  sol- 
diers have  joined  the  rebels,  but  who  can  hold  him  responsible, 
and  why  should  he  expose  himself  to  the  danger  of  being  re- 
fused obedience  should  he  demand  it  of  them  ? 

Taher  Pacha  thinks  differently.  During  the  night  he 
had  examined  the  books  of  the  defterdar,  held  a  prisoner  in 
his  house,  and  had  been  compelled  to  admit  that  he  was  inno- 
cent, and  had  no  money  with  which  to  pay  off  the  soldiers. 

On  the  following  morning  he  announced  to  his  soldiers 
that  the  defterdar  was  innocent,  and  the  viceroy  alone  guilty. 
He  had  accumulated  and  possessed  money  and  treasure,  and 
could  pay  the  soldiers  if  he  would.  He  had,  however,  deter- 
mined to  keep  for  himself  all  the  money  sent  from  Stamboul 
for  the  troops. 

The  intelligence  rapidly  spreads  among  the  soldiers  that 
Cousrouf  has  money,  and  can  pay  if  he  will. 

"  And  pay  he  shall !  "  cries  Taher  Pacha.  u  I  will  march 
with  you  into  his  stronghold.  Woe  to  him  ;  he  has  begun 
this  work  of  slaughter,  and  must  take  the  consequences  !  " 

The  gates  are  closed  and  barred.  What  care  the  soldiers, 
encouraged  by  their  general's  approach,  for  that  ?  "  The  walls 
can  be  scaled  ! "  No  sooner  said  than  done.  Like  cats,  the 
first  climb  over  the  high  wall,  and  the  rest  follow.  The 
guards  within  are  overpowered,  and  the  gates  are  thrown 
open.  And  now  all  rush  in  intent  on  victory,  and,  above 
all,  on  obtaining  money. 

The  viceroy's  khaznadar  advances  to  meet  them  with  a 
body  of  soldiers.  Taher  Pacha  calls  on  him  to  surrender. 
The  coward  obeys,  and  lays  down  his  arms.  Cousrouf  sits 


THE  INSURRECTION.  393 

quietly  in  his  apartment,  little  dreaming  of  what  has  taken 
place. 

•'  Let  them  fight  on  ;  in  a  short  time  these  rebels  and  trai- 
tors will  yield,  and  sue  for  mercy.  I  will  have  their  heads 
severed  from  their  bodies,  and  sent  to  Stamboul  as  trophies  of 
victory  ! " 

But  what  does  this  strange  noise  mean  ? 

A  volley  resounds  from  beneath  Cousrouf  s  windows. 

A  Nubian  rushes  into  his  apartment,  and  announces,  in 
tones  of  dismay  :  "  You  are  betrayed,  the  khaznadar  has  sur- 
rendered, and  the  rebels  are  storming  the  palace." 

Cousrouf  bounds  from  his  seat,  hurls  from  him  his  chi- 
bouque, and  quickly  girds  on  his  sword. 

"  We  will  hurl  them  back.  Let  Mohammed  All  come  with 
his  troops.  He  will  vanquish  them  and  overthrow  the  traitor, 
Taher  Pacha.  Right  royally  shall  Mohammed  Ali  be  reward- 
ed if  he  comes  to  my  assistance  ;  and  come  he  will.  He  is  at 
least  no  traitor,  and  will  never  make  common  cause  with  reb- 
els. You,  my  Nubians,  my  body-guard,  my  brave  followers, 
ascend  to  the  battlement  and  turn  the  guns  upon  the  rebels 
who  surround  us." 

They  obey  his  command,  and  their  guns  are  soon  thunder- 
ing down  into  the  ranks  of  the  rebels. 

Mohammed  does  not  come  to  the  viceroy's  assistance  ;  he 
is  ill,  and  has  been  confined  to  his  room  ever  since  Taher  Pa- 
cha has  been  besieging  the  citadel  with  his  soldiers.  Nor  will 
his  illness  permit  him  to  leave  the  house  now,  and  his  servant 
announces  to  all  comers  and  to  the  soldiers  that  the  sarechsme 
is  very,  very  ill. 

After  two  days  have  elapsed,  he  asks  the  physician,  who  is 
feeling  his  pulse,  in  a  weak  voice  and  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 
ence, how  matters  are  progressing  at  the  citadel  ;  whether  the 
traitor,  Taher  Pacha,  still  presumes  to  besiege  the  viceroy  in 
his  palace,  and  laments  his  inability  to  fly  to  his  master's  as- 
sistance with  his  troops.  When  the  physician  tells  him  that 
the  rebels  had  stormed  the  citadel,  and  that  Cousrouf  had  fled, 
Mohammed  shudders  and  sinks  back  upon  his  couch.  Truly, 
he  is  very  ill  1  How  could  this  intelligence  otherwise  have  so 
fearful  an  effect  ? 
26 


394:  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Yes,  Cousrouf  has  fled  ;  he  hoped  for  your  assistance  in 
vain,  and  was  compelled  to  yield  when  it  did  not  come.  Yes, 
sarechsme,  he  fled  secretly  through  the  back  gate  of  the 
citadel  into  the  desert  with  his  faithful  body-guard  and  his 
women." 

"  And  Taher  Pacha  ? "  asks  Mohammed,  eagerly. 

"  Taher  Pacha  has  proclaimed  himself  caimacan.  On  my 
way  here  I  met  the  cadi  of  the  sheiks  going  to  the  citadel  to 
present  the  robe  of  fur  to  the  caimacan,  in  token  of  their  rec- 
ognition." 

Loud  and  derisive  laughter  resounds  from  Mohammed  Ali's 
lips. 

"  Really  the  sarechsme  is  very  ill,  and  in  a  fearful  state  of 
excitement !  His  head  may  be  affected  by  it.  It  may  become 
dangerous." 

The  physician  prescribes  cooling  applications  for  his  head, 
and  goes  in  person  to  superintend  their  preparation. 

The  door  has  hardly  closed  behind  the  physician,  when 
Mohammed  bounds  from  his  bed. 

"Now  I  am  no  longer  ill  !  The  time  for  action  has 
come  !  " 

He  calls  one  of  his  Nubian  slaves. 

"Hasten,  my  Saneb — hasten  to  the  camp  of  the  Mameluke 
beys.  You  will  find  them  near  Petresin,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Nile.  Seek  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  and  say  to  him  :  '  The  time 
has  come  ;  await,  beside  the  great  Pyramid  at  Gheezeh,  him 
with  whom  you  conversed  there  two  weeks  since  ;  await  him 
there  with  all  his  forces.'  Have  you  understood  me  ?  Repeat 
my  words." 

The  Nubian  repeated  what  he  had  said,  word  for  word. 

"  And  now  hasten  away,  time  is  precious,  and  my  message 
is  important." 

Hardly  had  the  Nubian  departed,  when  messengers  came 
to  summon  Mohammed  to  the  citadel,  to  Taher  Pacha,  the  new 
caimacan.  With  a  profound  bow,  Mohammed  replies  that  he 
will  immediately  do  himself  the  honor  of  waiting  on  the  caima- 
can. 

He  calls  his  servants  to  his  assistance,  and  puts  on  his  gala 
uniform,  mounts  his  splendidly-caparisoned  steed,  and,  fol- 


THE   INSURRECTION.  395 

lowed  by  a  small  body-guard  of  eight  men,  gallops  through 
the  streets  to  the  citadel. 

Taher  Pacha,  reclining  on  Cousrouf'  s  cushions  and  smok- 
ing his  chibouque,  receives  Mohammed  with  lively  manifesta- 
tions of  delight. 

"  See  what  a  man  can  make  of  himself,  Mohammed  ?  Here 
I  lie,  smoking  Cousrouf 's  chibouque  on  Cousrouf 's  cushions  ! " 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  magnificence,  and  hope  you 
may  long  repose  there." 

"It  is  to  be  hoped  that  I  shall,"  replied  Taher  Pacha. 
"  Fortune  smiles  on  the  daring.  Had  you  been  bold  enough, 
you  might  now  be  in  my  place,  Mohammed  Ali;  but  you 
probably  shrank  from  incurring  the  risk.  I  acted  boldly,  you 
perceive,  and  mine  is  now  the  viceroy's  crown.  Why  did  you 
not  grasp  it  ?  you  needed  but  to  stretch  forth  your  hand." 

"And  you  did  grasp  it.  Allah  was  gracious  to  you.  I 
dared  not ;  it  seemed  too  far  from  me.  And  then,  I  admit,  my 
head  is  too  small  for  so  heavy  an  ornament ! " 

"I  feel  strong  enough  to  bear  this  burden,"  said  Taher, 
laughing,  "and  now  that  I  have  it,  I  shall  also  know  how  to 
secure  myself  in  its  possession.  All  Cairo  already  recognizes 
me  in  my  new  dignity,  and  your  recognition  is  now  alone 
wanting,  Mohammed  Ali." 

"  I  bow  in  all  humility  before  the  caimacan,  and  shall  also 
recognize  him  as  viceroy  as  soon  as  an  answer  is  received 
from  Stamboul." 

Taher  smiled  graciously.  "  And  now  receive  my  first  in- 
structions, sarechsme.  Send  messengers  to  the  Mameluke 
beys,  I  desire  to  make  peace  with  them;  I  wish  them  to  be  my 
friends.  We  have  had  bloodshed  enough.  United  with  the 
Mamelukes,  we  shall  be  able  to  defy  our  Turkish  enemies." 

"  I  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  replied  Mohammed,  bowing 
profoundly. 

"Then  carry  out  my  instructions  at  once." 

"Your  command  shall  be  obeyed  without  delay,"  replied 
Mohammed,  as  he  turned  and  left  the  apartment. 

"  He  does  not  know  what  he  is  doing.  It  would  have  been 
dangerous  for  me  to  send  a  messenger  to  the  Mamelukes. 
Now,  in  his  assumed  authority,  he  empowers  me  to  do  what 


396  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  DOUSE. 

I  have  long  since  done  in  ray  own  interests.  O  Taher  Pacha, 
you  think  yourself  entitled  to  the  throne  because  you  have 
scaled  the  walls  of  the  citadel;  you  are,  however,  grievously 
mistaken." 

After  three  days  the  messenger  reached  thehardissi's  camp, 
and  delivered  Mohammed's  message. 

Osman  Bardissi  shouted  with  delight.  "The  sarechsme 
keeps  his  word,  and  is  about  to  unite  with  us.  Come,  ye 
Mamelukes,  let  us  march  to  Gheezeh  to  meet  our  ally." 

On  the  third  day  of  their  march  the  Mamelukes  reach 
their  destination,  and  encamp  on  the  hanks  of  the  Nile,  near 
Gheezeh. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  an  officer  in  a  glittering 
uniform  rides  into  the  Mameluke  camp,  accompanied  by  a 
small  body-guard.  Bardissi  recognizes  the  officer  and  joyous- 
ly greets  him,  and  Sheik  Arnhyn,  who  rides  at  his  side. 

"There  comes  the  brave  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali;  he 
keeps  his  word,  and  comes  to  unite  his  forces  with  ours." 

"A  hearty  welcome,  Mohammed  Ali;  a  hearty  welcome 
from  me,  and  from  all  of  us  !" 

"A  warm  greeting  to  you,  Bardissi!"  cried  Mohammed, 
extending  his  hand. 

There  they  stood,  hand-in-hand,  gazing  at  each  other 
thoughtfully  and  earnestly.  The  others  had  respectfully 
withdrawn. 

"We  are  both  thinking  of  the  past,  Osman  Bey,"  said 
Mohammed,  with  a  soft  smile.  "  You  see  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten the  name  you  impressed  on  my  memory  at  Cavalla." 

"Nor  have  I  forgotten  your  name,  Mohammed  Ali,"  re- 
plied Bardissi.  "  The  boys  who  defied  each  other  at  Cavalla 
have  become  men,  and  friends,  too,  have  they  not,  Moham- 
med ? " 

"  Yes,  friends,  too,  I  hope,  Bardissi ;  and  I  press  your  hand 
in  token  of  my  friendship. " 

"  And  I  yours.  I  am  your  friend,  and  welcome  you  hearti- 
ly to  our  camp.  But  where  are  your  forces  ?  We  have 
assembled  here  to  meet  them  ;  are  they  not  coming  ?  " 

"  They  will  soon  come,"  replied  Mohammed  ;  "  my  army 
awaits  my  orders.  I  have  hastened  here  in  the  mean  while 


THE  INSURRECTION.  397 

to  tell  you  that  I  am  your  faithful  friend  and  ally.  Great 
events  have  taken  place  in  Cairo,  and  others  are  now  impend- 
ing. Wait  a  short  time,  and  I  shall  probably  be  able  to  bring 
you  the  troops  of  the  new  caimacan,  Taher  Pacha,  as  well  as 
my  own.  The  caimacan  wishes  your  friendship  and  alliance, 
and  sends  me  as  his  messenger.  But,  as  I  have  already  said,  I 
advise  you  to  wait.  The  caimacan's  rule  is  an  overbearing 
one,  and  strange  events  are  about  to  take  place  in  Cairo.  I 
do  not  wish  to  take  part  in  them,  and  have  therefore  come 
here  with  a  small  escort.  My  soldiers  are  encamped  near 
Cairo,  and  await  my  orders  to  march  here.  I  came  alone  to 
prove  that  I  trust  you,  and,  with  your  permission,  will  remain 
here  with  you  a  few  days." 

"  That  was  nobly  thought  and  nobly  done,  Mohammed  ; 
you  honor  us  more  by  coining  alone  than  if  you  had  come 
with  all  your  forces,"  cried  Bardissi,  as  he  embraced  Moham- 
med. 

"  Now  you  are  mine,  Mohammed,  and  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart.  United  with  you,  my  hero,  we  can  defy  all  the 
Turks  that  may  be  sent  over  from  Stamboul." 

Mohammed  was  right ;  strange  events  soon  occurred  in 
the  palace  of  the  caimacan  at  Cairo.  The  revolt  which  he 
had  helped  to  excite  had  not  yet  subsided.  He  had  turned 
the  wild  herd  loose,  but  was  now  unable  to  manage  it.  The 
soldiers  demanded  their  pay  of  the  caimacan  as  savagely  as 
they  had  demanded  it  of  Cousrouf. 

But  where  was  the  necessary  money  to  be  obtained? 
Money  was  the  pretext  on  which  he  began  the  revolt,  and 
now  he  finds  himself  enthroned  in  the  palace  as  caimacan 
with  empty  coffers,  Cousrouf  having  taken  with  him  what- 
ever treasure  he  possessed.  He  had  invoked  curses  upon  him- 
self by  endeavoring  to  procure  money  by  force  and  extortion. 
What  had  become  of  the  promises  solemnly  made  to  the  peo- 
ple by  the  caimacan  on  the  first  day  of  his  rule  ? — 

''  Peace  and  quiet  shall  prevail  in  the  land,  and  happiness 
be  the  portion  of  the  much-tormented  inhabitants  of  Cairo." 

Instead  of  peace,  he  has  brought  upon  them  new  discord 
and  revolt ;  instead  of  happiness,  new  misery. 

In  order  to  appease  the  wrath  of  his  soldierr,  he  caused  a 


398  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

number  of  the  leading  citizens  to  be  arrested,  and,  upon  their 
refusal  to  pay  the  money  demanded  of  them,  several  of  them 
were  stretched  on  the  rack,  and  others  beheaded. 

Finally,  nothing  remained  to  the  new  caimacan  but  to  do 
as  Cousrouf  had  done,  and  meet  the  demands  of  his  soldiers 
with  the  statement  that  he  had  no  money,  and  could  not  pay 
them. 

The  savage  cry  of  the  soldiery  for  pay  was  renewed  in 
front  of  the  citadel  day  after  day  with  increased  fierceness, 
and  at  last  the  two  bim  bashis,  Moussa  and  Ismail  Aga,  were 
sent  up  to  the  citadel  to  the  caimacan  to  make  a  final  appeal 
for  pay  on  the  part  of  the  soldiers. 

He  received  them  with  a  proud,  gloomy  look,  asked  why 
they  came,  and  how  these  rebellious  soldiers  dare  approach 
him  in  such  a  manner.  They  bowed  their  heads,  and,  as  they 
approached  the  caimacan,  entreated  him  in  humble  tones  to 
satisfy  the  just  demands  of  the  soldiers.  They  conjured  him 
to  do  so  for  the  sake  of  peace,  and  for  his  own  sake.  The  sol- 
diers were  in  a  highly  excited  state,  and  disposed  to  adopt  ex- 
treme measures. 

''  To  adopt  extreme  measures  ! "  cried  Taher.  "  How  dare 
you  address  such  words  to  me  ? " 

''  We  have  been  sent  to  you  by  the  troops,  highness,  and 
must  act  according  to  our  instructions.  Once  more,  we  im- 
plore you  to  pay  the  soldiers  ! " 

"And  once  more  I  repeat  to  you  that  I  neither  can  nor 
will  pay  them  !  "  cried  Taher,  furiously.  "  If  the  traitors  dare 
to  threaten  me,  I  will  lay  their  heads  at  their  feet !  " 

"  Then  we  had  best  begin  with  you  ! "  cried  the  bim  bashis, 
rushing  upon  him,  and  running  him  through  with  their  ata- 
ghans.  They  then  severed  the  head  from  the  body,  opened  a 
window,  and  hurled  it  down  to  the  soldiers,  who  received  it 
with  shouts  of  delight,  and  then  rushed  into  the  palace. 

The  caimacan's  faithful  Armenians  threw  themselves  in 
their  way,  and  a  murderous  conflict  arose  on  the  stairway, 
and  in  all  the  halls  and  apartments  of  the  palace.  The  con- 
flict extended  to  all  the  streets  of  the  city,  and  the  work  of 
slaughter  was  carried  on  all  over  Cairo. 

Taher  Pacha  is  dead,  murdered  !    The  magnificence  of  the 


THE  INSURRECTION.  399 

new  caimacan  is  at  an  end  after  a  rule  of  scarcely  twenty 
days.  The  intelligence  reaches  Gheezeh,  where  the  Mame- 
lukes are  encamped,  and  where  the  sarechsme  Mohammed  Ali 
is  sojourning.  He  smiles  as  he  hears  it. 

•'I  told  you  to  wait.  But  now  I  say,  let  us  hasten  to 
Cairo  !  Let  messengers  be  sent  to  my  troops,  instructing 
them  to  march  out  to  meet  us,  and  the  Armenians  will,  I 
think,  also  join  us.  The  time  has  come.  Let  us  hasten  to 
Cairo,  ye  Mameluke  beys  ! '' 

The  camp  resounds  with  shouts  of  delight,  and  the  Mame- 
luke beys  mount  their  steeds,  and  place  themselves  at  the 
head  of  their  followers  to  begin  the  march. 

Mohammed  Ali  also  mounts  his  horse,  but,  before  he  turns, 
glances  around,  and  sees  the  Bedouin  sheik  Arnhyn,  who  is 
about  to  mount  his  dromedary,  and  calls  him  to  his  side. 

"  Well,  Arnhyn,  your  dromedary  is  here,  but  I  miss  your 
daughter  in  the  palanquin ! " 

"  She  is  at  home  in  the  tent  awaiting  my  return,  sa- 
rechsme ! " 

"In  her  father's  tent,  still?"  said  Mohammed,  smiling. 
"  She  has  not  yet  followed  to  his  tent  him  who  has  kissed  her, 
and  made  her  his  wife  ? " 

"  No,  sarechsme,  she  is  still  in  her  father's  tent,  and  there, 
she  says,  she  will  remain.  Many  fine  young  men  have  wooed 
her,  for  she  has  been  made  rich  by  the  spoils  her  father  gath- 
ered on  the  plain  of  Damanhour.  Yes,  Arnhyn  will  give  his 
daughter  a  rich  dowry,  and  there  are  wooers  enough.  But 
Butheita  is  a  strange  child  !  When  a  handsome  suitor  comes, 
and  I  beg  her  to  follow  him  to  his  tent,  she  shakes  her  head, 
rejects  his  gifts,  and  laughs  at  his  sweet  words.  'You  are 
ugly  ! '  says  she,  laughing.  '  I  will  love  only  the  handsomest 
of  men,  and  him  only  will  I  follow  to  his  tent.'  That  is  what 
Butheita  says,  sarechsme  ! " 

"And  that  is  what  she  should  say,"  replied  Mohammed, 
smiling.  "Bear  a  greeting  to  Butheita  from  me,  when  you 
return  home,  sheik,  and  tell  her  she  is  right  in  waiting  until 
he  comes  whom  she  will  gladly  follow  to  his  tent,  and  who 
may  kiss  her.  Tell  her  to  wait  patiently,  for  Allah  will  surely 
send  her  the  marfc  she  can  love.  Greet  Butheita  for  me." 


400  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

He  mounts  his  horse,  and  gallops  off  to  where  the  Mame- 
luke beys  are  awaiting  him  in  order  to  begin  their  march  to 
Cairo. 

The  Mameluke  beys  and  Mohammed  Ali  enter  Cairo  in 
triumph.  Taher  Pacha's  Armenians  have  joined  him,  and, 
together  with  his  Albanians,  they  form  a  magnificent  corps. 
The  delighted  people  of  Cairo  cry  out  to  Mohammed :  "  Oh, 
give  us  peace,  brave  sarechsme  !  Let  the  day  of  peace  at  last 
dawn  over  unhappy  Cairo  ! " 

Mohammed  had  conferred  with  the  leaders  of  the  Arme- 
nians, and,  with  then*  consent,  the  citadel  was  tendered  the 
Mameluke  beys  as  a  residence.  They  joyfully  accepted  it.  and 
proudly  took  up  their  abode  in  the  fortress. 

Mohammed  Ali,  however,  returned  to  his  own  house,  and 
when  he  had  reached  the  retirement  of  his  apartment,  and  no 
one  could  see,  he  raised  his  arm  threateningly  in  the  direction 
of  the  citadel. 

"  You  are  in  my  residence,  ye  Mamelukes,"  muttered  he. 
"  You  are  now  the  masters  of  Cairo,  but  I  swear  that  I  will 
drive  you  out  of  my  palace,  as  I  drove  out  the  viceroy,  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha.  I  am  awaiting  my  time.  It  has  not  yet  come, 
but  I  now  know  that  it  will  come  ! " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

VENGEANCE  AT  LAST. 

THE  Mamelukes,  so  often  driven  from  Cairo,  are  once  more 
enthroned  in  the  citadel.  Cairo  reposes,  and  hopes  for  a  long 
period  of  peace. 

And  it  really  seemed  that  peace  had  entered  the  city  with 
the  Mamelukes  and  Osman  Bey.  The  citizens  could  once  more 
pursue  their  daily  avocations  in  tranquillity,  and  bands  of  dis- 
orderly soldiers  no  longer  roamed  about  in  the  neighborhood, 
destroying  and  plundering. 

Perhaps  the  wounds  inflicted  on  the  people  by  so  many 
cruel  wars  would  have  time  to  heal.  But  no,  their  hopes  are 


VENGEANCE  AT   LAST.  401 

vain.  In  Cairo  there  is  peace,  for  Ismail  Bey,  the  oldest  and 
wisest  of  the  Mamelukes,  sits  enthroned  in  the  citadel,  and 
with  him  Bardissi,  whom  Mohammed  Ali  calls  his  friend. 

In  Cairo  there  is  peace,  for  the  Albanians  and  Armenians 
are  under  subjection  to  their  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali. 
But,  without,  war  raises  its  hloody  head,  and  threatens  Egypt 
with  new  misery. 

Is  not  Cousrouf  Pacha,  the  former  viceroy,  still  in  the 
country  ?  Has  he  not  fled  to  Upper  Egypt  ?  Have  not  his 
troops  followed  him  there,  and  has  not  his  reputation  drawn 
many  to  his  standard  ?  And  are  there  not  many  who  refuse 
to  submit  to  the  Mameluke  rule,  and  remain  faithful  to  the 
flag  of  their  master,  Cousrouf  Pacha,  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt  ? 

No  sooner  had  Cousrouf  heard  of  the  death  of  Taher  Pacha 
than  he  started  from  Damietta,  where  he  had  lain  encamped 
with  his  army,  to  return  to  Cairo  and  resume  his  authority. 

Mohammed,  informed  of  this  advance,  consulted  Bardissi, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  their  united  forces  should  march  out  to 
meet  the  enemy,  Hassan  Bey  being  first  sent  out  with  a  body 
of  Arabian  cavalry  to  feel  the  enemy's  lines. 

With  united  forces  they  now  marched  out,  Mohammed  Ali 
and  the  beys,  his  former  enemies,  side  by  side;  the  Albanians, 
Ottomans,  and  Armenians,  were  in  front ;  behind  them  came 
the  Mamelukes  and  Bedouins. 

In  the  mean  while,  Cousrouf  had  advanced  victoriously. 
He  had  driven  Hassan  Bey  before  him,  and  had  stormed  the 
village  of  Fareskour,  in  which  the  bey  had  fortified  himself. 
The  inhabitants  were  slain,  and  the  houses  sacked  and  de- 
stroyed by  Cousrouf's  soldiers. 

After  this  victory,  the  advance  on  Cairo  seemed  easier. 
Cousrouf,  however,  preferred  to  retreat  to  Damietta,  having 
learned  that  a  larger  force  was  advancing  to  meet  him.  Has- 
san Bey  had  returned  by  hurried  marches  to  Cairo,  and  de- 
manded re-enforcements,  which  were  given  him.  With  these, 
he  again  advanced  toward  Damietta,  followed  by  Mohammed 
and  Bardissi  with  their  powerful  columns.  With  great  haste, 
Cousrouf  set  about  making  Damietta  strong  enough  to  defy 
the  enemy.  The  walls  were  crowned  with  cannon,  and  two 
guns  were  placed  in  position  on  the  bridge  that  spans  the  Nile 


402  MOHAMMED   ALI   AJfD   HIS  HOUSE. 

canal,  at  Damietta.  A  plentiful  supply  of  provisions  and  mu- 
nitions of  war  was  also  accumulated  in  the  fortress. 

"  And  now  let  us  await  the  enemy.  Allah  and  the  right 
are  with  us.  The  grand-sultan  at  Stamboul  has  appointed  me 
viceroy ;  the  rebels  have  driven  me  from  Cairo,  hut  my  just 
cause  will  lead  me  back  in  triumph  ! " 

In  such  terms  did  Cousrouf  speak  to  his  soldiers  to  encour- 
age them  to  make  a  gallant  defence  of  the  fortress. 

But  Cousrouf's  words  excited  little  enthusiasm  among  his 
followers;  the  scouts  sent  out  returned  with  the  intelligence 
that  the  enemy  was  approaching  hi  immense  force. 

They  were  advancing  along  the  Nile,  Mohammed  with  the 
infantry,  Bardissi  with  the  mounted  troops.  Now  they  were 
separated  from  the  enemv  by  the  canal  only,  but  Cousrouf's 
cannon  made  impassible  the  one  bridge  that  united  the  two 
shores. 

"  Yet  we  must  effect  our  passage  to  the  other  side,"  said 
Bardissi. 

"  Yes,  but  the  question  is,  how  are  we  to  do  so  ?"  said  Mo- 
hammed. 

All  the  him  bashis  and  boulouk  bashis,  together  with  the 
beys  and  their  kachefs,  were  called  together  in  a  council  of 
war.  For  a  long  time  their  deliberations  were  fruitless.  How 
were  they  to  get  over  without  boats  or  bridges  ? 

"  We  must  ford  it,"  said  Mohammed  Ali.  "  There  must  be 
some  place  where  we  can  venture  to  cross  on  foot.  There  are 
shallow  places  in  the  canal,  I  bave  been  told ;  and,  if  some  one 
could  be  found  willing  to  incur  the  danger  of  making  inquiries 
on  the  other  side,  in  Damietta,  where  they  are  better  informed 
on  the  subject,  we  might  succeed  in  finding  such  a  place." 

"  I  will  undertake  this  duty,''  said  the  kachef  Youssouf, 
stepping  forward.  "  I  will  go  over  to  Damietta  and  obtain  the 
desired  information." 

"  You  are  a  brave  man,  Kachef  Youssouf,"  said  Bardissi, 
"but  consider  that  you  risk  your  life,  and  perhaps  in  vain." 

"  I  shall,  however,  die  in  the  performance  of  my  duty  !  I 
will  go  over  and  make  the  attempt  !  " 

"  As  you  are  ?  And  do  you  not  suppose  the  first  sentinel 
on  the  walls  of  Damietta  will  shoot  you  down  ? " 


VENGEANCE   AT   LAST.  403 

f 

"  I  shall  not  go  as  I  am,  Osman  Bey.  They  will  not  be 
able  to  recognize  in  me  the  kachef  of  Bardissi  and  of  Sitta 
Nefysseh." 

And  he  was  right.  He  was  not  recognized.  Disguised  as  a 
fellah,  in  the  long  blouse  that  hung  down  to  his  feet,  entirely 
unarmed,  a  plain  brown  cap  on  his  head,  and  carrying,  sus- 
pended to  a  strap  over  his  shoulder,  a  basket  filled  with  water- 
melons, Kachef  Youssouf  entered  the  fortress  of  Damietta  on 
the  following  morning. 

He  called  out  his  fruit,  and  people  hastened  to  him  to  pur- 
chase. The  kachef  chatted  gayly  with  them  in  the  Arabian 
tongue,  and  told  them  of  the  enemy  who  was  approaching, 
but  who  could  find  no  passage  over  the  canal ;  and  Youssouf 
laughed  at  and  derided  the  enemy. 

They  quickly  observed  that  he  was  a  faithful  servant  of 
the  viceroy,  and  therefore  chatted  with  him  unreservedly. 
Much  was  told  the  fellah  of  the  want  of  the  soldiers,  and  of 
the  longing  of  the  people  to  see  the  war  terminated. 

"  If  they  could  only  get  over,"  said  some  of  the  people,  with 
a  sigh.  "  There  are  shallow  places,  here  and  there,  where  a 
passage  would  be  easy. r 

Youssouf's  manner  was  careless  and  indifferent,  but  noth- 
ing escaped  him.  No  one  read  in  his  countenance  the  fearful 
danger  to  which  he  was  exposed,  and  he  passed  the  entire  day 
strolling  around  in  Damietta.  But,  when  night  came,  he 
hastened  to  the  canal,  and  tried  the  places  casually  mentioned 
during  the  day.  He  finally  attempted  to  cross  over  at  the 
place  spoken  of  as  the  most  shallow. 

And  he  has  succeeded !  There  he  stands  on  the  other  bank, 
dripping  with  water,  his  wet  blouse  clinging  to  his  person. 
He  hastened  to  the  camp  to  Bardissi,  to  bring  the  glad  intelli- 
gence that  there  is  a  place  where  they  can  cro^s  on  foot  to  the 
other  shore  in  spite  of  the  cannon  on  the  bridge,  and  of  the 
garrison  of  Damietta. 

"  Well  done,  brave  kachef!"  cried  Bardissi.  "You  have 
deserved  your  reward,  and  you  shall  have  it  !  I  appoint  you 
kachef  of  my  guard,  and  give  you  a  command  of  one  hundred 
Mamelukes." 

Youssouf's  countenance  lighted  up,  and  his  eyes  sparkled 


404  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

with  delight.  He  thought  of  Sitta  Nefysseh,  and  rejoiced  in 
his  successful  feat,  and  in  his  reward,  because  she  would  be 
pleased. 

"  O  Sitta  Nefysseh,  when  I  come  into  your  presence,  and 
kneel  down  before  you,  will  you  receive  me  graciously,  and 
permit  me  to  remain  with  you  henceforth  ?  O  Sitta  Nefysseh, 
if  the  time  were  only  come  when  on  bended  knee  I  can  say 
to  you :  '  Your  servant  has  returaed,  but  he  is  no  longer  a 
poor  kachef  !  He  has  won  laurels  because  you  commanded 
him  to  seek  them  I  May  he  now  serve  you  again  ?'  Oh,  that 
I  were  with  you  again,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ! " 

On  the  following  night  they  were  conducted  by  Youssouf 
to  the  place  at  which  he  had  forded  the  canal. 

The  Mameluke  beys  dismount  and  step  into  the  water.  In 
advance  is  Osmaii  Bey,  and  beside  him  Mohammed  Ali.  The 
passage  must  be  effected  noiselessly,  so  as  not  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  enemy. 

The  water  rushes  past  them,  almost  carrying  their  feet 
from  under  them.  It  already  reaches  their  shoulders,  and 
they  can  hardly  retain  their  foothold.  Kachef  Youssouf 
must  have  been  deceived.  A  wave,  driven  by  the  night-wind, 
rolls  by  and  sweeps  Mohammed  with  it. 

Osman  Bey  sees  his  friend  torn  from  his  side,  rushes  after 
him,  grasps  him  with  his  strong  arm,  and  holds  him  se- 
curely. 

"I  thank  you,  Osman  Bey;  you  have  saved  my  life." 

"  And  I  thank  Allah  that  I  was  at  your  side  and  could 
save  it." 

Finally  they  succeed  in  getting  over,  and  now  they  stand 
on  the  other  shore.  Bardissi  embraces  Mohammed,  and  con- 
gratulates him  on  their  safe  passage.  He  then  grasps  Yous- 
souf's  hand,  and  thanks  him  once  more. 

"Now,  good  Cousrouf,  the  days  of  your  rule  are 
numbered." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Mohammed  to  himself,  "  I,  too,  rejoice 
in  your  coming  overthrow.  O  Allah,  give  us  all  victory,  and 
give  me  vengeance  ! " 

The  passage  of  the  troops  is  effected.  The  Albanians  first 
rush  to  the  bridge  where  the  cannon  are  in  position,  cut  down 


VENGEANCE   AT   LAST.  405 

the  gunners  before  they  can  give  an  alarm,  and  with  the  cap- 
tured guns  fire  their  first  shots  into  Damietta. 

The  thunder  of  these  shots  arouses  the  enemy,  who  lie 
encamped  in  front  of  the  fortress,  and  a  bloody,  fiercely- 
contested  battle  begins.  But  at  its  conclusion  the  allies, 
Bardissi  and  Mohammed  Ali,  enter  Damietta  in  triumph. 
No  quarter  is  given.  They  massacre  all  who  fall  into 
their  hands  ;  every  house  is  sacked  and  then  burned.  On 
the  square  in  front  of  Fort  Lesbe,  a  column  of  soldiers, 
Cousrouf  Pacha  at  its  head,  sitting  proudly  erect  on  his 
steed,  still  opposes  them.  He  has  been  bravely  fighting 
all  along,  fighting  for  life,  for  victory,  for  glory,  but  he  has 
fought  in  vain ;  he  prefers,  however,  to  die  at  the  head  of 
his  followers,  than  to  flee,  or  fall  into  the  hands  of  Moham- 
med Ali. 

The  enemy  approaches.  A  ball  strikes  Cousrouf's  horse, 
and  it  sinks  to  the  ground.  With  difficulty  he  succeeds  in 
extricating  himself  from  his  fallen  steed. 

"  Upon  them,  my  brave  soldiers  ! "  he  cries,  drawing  his 
ataghan.  "  Let  us  fight  our  way  through  to  the  fort.  There 
we  shall  be  secure." 

"  You  shall  never  reach  it  ! "  exclaims  Bardissi,  his  uplifted 
sword  descending  upon  Cousrouf's  head. 

Suddenly  his  arm  is  grasped,  and  held  as  in  a  vise. 

"  Give  him  to  me,  Bardissi  !  "  cries  Mohammed. 

"  And  you  wish  to  save  Cousrouf's  life,  Mohammed  2 " 

"  Only  give  him  to  me,  Bardissi,  I  pray  you  ! " 

Bardissi  recognized  in  the  tone  in  which  these  few  words 
were  uttered,  that  Mohammed's  motive  in  making  his  request 
was  not  love  for  Cousrouf. 

"  You  are  my  prisoner,"  cried  Mohammed,  tearing  the 
sword  from  Cousrouf's  hand,  and  hurling  it  far  from  him. 
He  then  grasped  him  by  the  shoulders  and  looked  him  firmly 
in  the  eye.  "  Cousrouf  Pacha,  I,  Mohammed  Ali,  make  you 
my  prisoner." 

Cousrouf  makes  no  reply,  but  only  gazes  defiantly  upon 
his  enemy ;  gradually  his  head  sinks  down  upon  his  breast. 
Yes,  he  is  vanquished  and  a  prisoner,  a  prisoner  of  his  worst 
enemv.  He  could  be  in  no  worse  hands  than  in  those  that 


406  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

now  hold  him.     To  become  Mohammed  All's  prisoner  was  the 
worst  that  could  befall  him. 

And  vanquished  and  captured  he  is,  by  this  his  most 
relentless  enemy  !  With  him  are  vanquished  all  his  followers, 
and  nothing  is  left  of  the  fortress  of  Damietta  but  ashes  and 
ruins. 

The  victors  have  decided  to  send  Cousrouf  a  prisoner  to 
Cairo,  to  the  citadel  where  he  once  sat  enthroned. 

Mohammed  entered  the  apartment  in  a  half-burned  house 
of  Damietta  in  which  Cousrouf  was  confined.  None  else  is 
in  the  room.  Without,  the  sentinel  is  pacing  to  and  fro,  and 
in  an  adjoining  room  lie  two  Nubian  slaves  who  have  re- 
mained faithful  to  their  master,  wounded  and  exhausted  by 
loss  of  blood. 

Cousrouf  sees  Mohammed  enter,  and  a  groan  escapes  his 
breast ;  involuntarily  he  carries  his  hand  to  his  belt.  He  is 
unarmed!  He  cannot  hurl  himself  upon  him,  and  in  his 
downfall  destroy  him  also. 

Mohammed  stands  before  him,  armed,  his  eyes  fixed  on 
him  in  a  hard,  cruel  gaze.  Cousrouf  feels  this  glance,  and 
knows  that  his  enemy  rejoices  in  his  humiliation.  For  a  long 
time  no  word  is  spoken.  At  last  Cousrouf  raises  his  eyes  and 
endeavors  to  look  his  enemy  in  the  face  ;  but  he  cannot.  So 
terrible,  so  threatening  is  his  expression,  that  Cousrouf  shud- 
ders. It  seems  to  him  at  this  moment  that  an  avenging  angel 
stands  before  him  ;  and  the  viceroy,  usually  so  haughty  and 
overbearing,  feels  humiliated  and  helpless. 

"Cousrouf  Pacha,"  said  Mohammed,  after  a  long  pause, 
"  look  at  me !  I  have  long  worn  a  mask ;  you  placed  it  on  my 
countenance,  and  I  allowed  you  to  do  so,  and  awaited  my  time. 
Cousrouf  Pacha,  raise  your  eyes  and  look  at  me !  I  no  longer 
wear  a  mask  ! " 

Cousrouf  looked  up  at  him,  and  now  his  glance  was  firm, 
and  his  countenance  composed. 

"I  see,  Mohammed  Ali,  sarechsme  by  my  grace,  I  see  that 
you  now  wear  a  mask.  He  who  now  stands  before  me  is 
hardly  a  human  being,  but  the  mere  embodiment  of  hatred — 
envy  and  hatred  personified." 

"  You  mistake,  Cousrouf,"  replied  Mohammed  in  haughty 


VENGEANCE  AT   LAST.  407 

tones.  "Not  envy  and  hatred,  but  vengeance  personified. 
Cousrouf,  I  have  awaited  this  hour  for  thirteen  years.  Am  I 
not  to  enjoy  it  now  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  relinquish  it  for 
all  the  wealth  and  power  of  the  world  ? " 

"  I  know  you  would  not,"  replied  Cousrouf,  quietly.  "  Yet 
you  would  give  all  these  thirteen  years  of  falsehood  and  trick- 
ery, of  cunning  flattery  ;  yes,  you  would  give  the  miserable 
triumph  of  this  hour  for  a  single  smile  of  the  slave  to  whom  I 
awarded  merited  punishment.  Ah,  Mohammed  Ali,  you 
fancied  yourself  the  victor.  lam  he!  This  your  thirst  for 
vengeance  proclaims.  It  tells  me  that  the  wound  in  your 
heart  still  burns.  And  who  gave  you  this  wound  ?  I,  Cous- 
rouf Pacha,  and  therefore  do  you  seek  vengeance  on  me. 
The  wound  still  bleeds,  and  I  am  triumphant !  Yes,  I  am  the 
victor.  You  should  see  your  own  countenance  at  this 
moment  ;  now,  you  are  not  vengeance  and  hatred,  but  misery, 
personified.  Let  me  in  conclusion  proclaim  this  :  Masa  is 
dead,  and  I  slew  Masa.  Slay  me,  her  murderer.  But  dying, 
I  shall  cry  exultingly  :  '  Your  wound  still  bleeds,  and  I  am 
victor !  Masa  is  dead,  here  stands  her  slayer,  slay  him  ! ' " 

For  a  moment  Mohammed  was  silent  ;  a  deathly  pallor  had 
overspread  his  countenance,  and  his  eyes  gleamed  fiercely.  He 
grasped  the  dagger  in  his  girdle,  drew  it  from  its  sheath,  and 
raised  it  high  in  his  right  hand. 

Cousrouf  gazed  at  him  with  a  triumphant  expression. 

He  wished  for  death,  he  longed  for  it  after  his  fearful  over- 
throw. 

Perhaps  Mohammed  read  this  in  his  glance.  His  arm  sank 
slowly  to  his  side,  and  he  replaced  the  dagger  in  its  sheath. 

"  Cousrouf  Pacha,  you  desire  death,  but  you  shall  not  die. 
You  shall  live  to  learn  that  the  wound  in  my  heart  no  longer 
bleeds  ;  that  it  is  healed.  If  it  were  not  so,  by  Allah,  you,  the 
murderer  of  Masa,  were  already  dead  !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  I 
pronounce  the  name  I  have  not  spoken  for  many  years,  the 
name  Masa  !  You  were  her  murderer,  not  her  judge  !  You 
were  not  her  master,  she  was  not  your  slave.  Her  death  was 
not  lawful ;  you  could  not  condemn  her,  and  therefore  do  I 
call  you  a  common  murderer.  I  know  that  murderers  are 
slain,  that  blood  is  atoned  for  by  blood.  This  punishment  the 


408  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

heart  dictates,  and  this  punishment  the  law  of  the  land  pro- 
scribes. But  this  punishment  were  too  mild  for  you,  Cous- 
rouf  Pacha.  I  will  not  slay  you  ;  you  shall  suffer  shame  and 
humiliation  ;  you  shall  drink  the  cup  of  bitterness  and  dis- 
grace to  the  very  dregs.  I  will  take  you  to  Cairo,  and  there  in 
the  citadel  you  shall  await  my  last  act  of  revenge." 

"  You  threaten  me,"  said  Cousrouf,  quietly.  "  What  evil 
can  you  add  to  that  already  inflicted  ?  I  do  not  fear  your 
threat,  and  I  shall  not  feel  humiliated  at  being  led  a  prisoner 
into  the  citadel,  where  I  once  ruled  your  master,  and  where 
Mohammed  Ali,  the  sarechsme  by  my  grace,  so  often 
knelt  in  the  dust  before  me.  I  have  been  vanquished  in 
honorable  warfare,  and  in  a  just  cause  ;  and  though  you, 
the  victor,  triumph  over,  I  shall  still  remain,  your  lawful 
master  ! '' 

u  Prove  this  to  the  people  of  Cairo  ;  see  whether  you  will 
be  recognized  as  master  there  ;  whether  those  who  formerly 
flattered  you  will  now  raise  a  finger  to  liberate  you,  or  restore 
you  to  the  throne.  And  when  you  find  that  they  will  not, 
then  remember,  Cousrouf  Pacha — that,  too,  is  a  part  of  Mo- 
hammed Ali's  revenge — had  I  slain  you,  all  your  sufferings 
would  have  been  at  an  end  !  But  you  shall  live  and  suffer 
for  many  a  long  year  to  come  !  For  Cousrouf  Pacha  caused 
Mohammed  Ali  to  suffer  for  long  years.  Then  suffer,  Cous- 
rouf ;  and,  let  me  tell  you,  from  this  hour  I  shall  suffer  no 
longer — from  this  hour  my  wounds  are  healed,  for  your 
wounds  bleed.  And  now  go  to  Cairo  humiliated,  covered 
with  disgrace,  the  prisoner  of  Mohammed  Ali !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  RETURN  TO  CAIRO. 

JOY  and  exultation  reign  in  Cairo.  The  united  forces  of 
the  Mamelukes,  Albanians,  and  Armenians,  have  returned 
home  crowned  with  victory.  Damietta  and  Rosetta  have  fall- 
en, and  the  Turks  have  everywhere  retreated  ;  a  miserable 


THE   RETURN   TO   CAIRO.  409 

remnant  only  have  found  safety  in  Alexandria,  where  Cour- 
schid  Pacha  rules. 

The  people  throng  the  streets  to  witness  the  grand  entrance 
of  the  victorious  troops. 

There,  at  the  head  of  four  thousand  Mamelukes,  sur- 
rounded by  a  body  of  beys  and  kachefs,  comes  Osman  Bey 
Bardissi,  the  hero  of  so  many  battles.  How  sparkling  his  eyes, 
how  radiant  the  smile  with  which  he  greets  the  populace  that 
hails  him  with  shouts  of  enthusiasm ! 

He  passes  by,  and  now  come  the  Albanians  and  Armeni- 
ans. At  their  head  rides  the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali  ; 
around  him  his  bim  bashis,  in  their  glittering  uniforms.  But 
who  is  it  that  rides  beside  him  on  the  splendidly-caparisoned 
ass — who  is  the  man  in  the  long  green  caftan,  trimmed  with 
fur,  the  green  turban  on  his  head  adorned  with  its  glittering 
crescent  ?  He  is  unarmed,  and  yet  he  rides  beside  the  sa- 
rechsme. His  countenance  is  pale,  and  his  lips  are  firmly 
compressed,  as  if  to  keep  back  a  cry  of  rage  that  struggles  for 
utterance.  Who  is  this  man?  Can  it  be  Cousrouf  Pacha? 
Yes,  it  is  he,  the  viceroy,  the  prisoner  given  to  Mohammed  Ali 
by  Bardissi.  In  his  magnanimity  Mohammed  had  grasped 
Bardissi's  arm,  uplifted  for  the  deadly  stroke,  and  had  thus 
saved  his  enemy's  life.  And  now  he  generously  allows  the 
man  whose  life  he  has  saved  to  ride  into  Cairo  at  his  side. 
The  people  relate  this  to  each  other,  and  are  loud  in  their 
praises  of  the  sarechsme's  magnanimity. 

Was  it  magnanimity?  Ask  Cousrouf,  who  feels  that  the 
favor  shown  him  by  his  enemy  is  worse  than  death,  who  feels 
with  anguish  that  he  is  merely  an  object  of  contempt,  while 
the  air  resounds  with  the  people's  enthusiastic  greeting  to  the 
accursed  Mohammed  Ali.  Him  the  people  had  never  saluted 
thus  ;  upon  his  head  the  sheiks  and  cadis  had  never  invoked 
Allah's  blessing. 

Now  the  citadel  looms  up  before  them  ;  the  sarechsme's 
countenance  is  radiant ;  smilingly  he  turns  to  Cousrouf. 

"I  take  pleasure,  highness,  in  conducting  you  to  the  citadel. 

You  fled  in  the  darkness  of  night ;  I  conduct  you  back  in  the 

broad  light  of  day,  and  wish  you  a  pleasant  sojourn  in  your 

palace.     I  regret,  however,  that  you  are  not  to  reside  there  en- 

27 


410  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

lirely  alone.  The  great  Mameluke  Bey,  Ismail,  now  resides 
there,  and  but  few  apartments  remain  unoccupied.  With 
these  few  you  will  therefore  have  to  content  yourself." 

"  I  should  be  contented  with  the  smallest  room,  though  it 
lay  beneath  the  earth,  could  I  be  spared  your  presence,  trai- 
tor !  "  mutters  Cousrouf . 

u  Spared  my  presence !  "  cries  Mohammed  Ali.  "  Consider, 
highness,  that  I  alone  am  to  amuse  and  entertain  you.  With 
me  alone  can  you  converse,  and  recall  fond  recollections  of 
the  past,  and  I  shall  therefore  not  fail  to  wait  on  your  high- 
ness right  often.  And  now,  highness,  ride  in  advance  and  en- 
ter the  palace  first,  as  the  master  should." 

He  draws  rein  as  they  reach  the  gateway,  and  gives  the  ass 
on  which  Cousrouf  is  mounted  a  blow  with  the  flat  of  his 
sword,  that  causes  it  to  rush  into  the  court-yard  with  a  succes- 
sion of  quick  bounds.  The  soldiers  standing  around  laugh 
loudly.  And  this  laughter  makes  Cousrouf  s  cheeks  red  with 
shame,  and  sends  tears  to  his  eyes,  tears  of  rage. 

Several  of  Ismail  Bey's  Mamelukes  now  approach,  and  lift 
Cousrouf  from  the  saddle  and  lead  him  into  the  house.  Mo- 
hammed seems  to  have  forgotten  him  ;  let  Ismail  Bey  take 
care  of  him.  To  him  Mohammed  intrusts  the  keeping  of  his 
prisoner. 

"He  belongs  to  me,  Ismail,  to  me  alone;  I  only  intrust  my 
prisoner  to  you  for  safe  keeping." 

He  is  conducted  to  the  upper  chambers  of  the  citadel  ;  there 
let  his  thoughts  prey  on  the  memory  of  her  he  murdered,  and 
of  him  who  avenges  her  ! 

The  houses  of  Cairo  are  adorned  with  carpets  and  flowers, 
and  laughter  and  merry-making  are  the  order  of  the  day. 

The  house  of  Mourad's  widow  also  shows  signs  of  life  with- 
in, to-day.  Sitta  Nefysseh  has  returned  to  her  home  after  a 
long  sojourn  in  the  house  of  Sheik  Sadat.  The  doors  of  her 
house  and  the  park-gate  are  again  thrown  open.  Sitta  Nefys- 
seh is  at  home  ;  she  sits  behind  the  golden  lattice-work  of  her 
window  and  gazes  out  into  the  street.  Why  does  her  heart 
throb  so  wildly?  Is  Sitta  Nefysseh  awaiting  any  one  ? 

A  long  array  of  richly-attired  officers  passes  by.  Sitta 
Nefysseh  gazes  at  them  intently,  her  heart  still  throbbing 


THE   RETURN   TO   CAIRO. 

wildly.  Suddenly  she  utters  a  low  cry,  and  with  closed  eyes 
reels  back  from  the  window.  It  is  he — yes,  she  has  seen  him, 
the  young  Mameluke  bey,  galloping  toward  her  house  on  his 
proud  steed,  followed  by  a  body  of  Mamelukes.  She  hears 
him  stop  before  the  door,  and  she  knows  that  he  is  coming. 

Her  countenance  radiant  with  delight,  she  stands  with  out- 
stretched arms,  as  she  had  stood  when  she  last  saw  him,  and, 
as  then,  she  whispers  :  "  I  love  him  !  oh,  I  love  him  !  My 
soul  yearns  for  him  !  I  would  clasp  him  in  my  arms,  and  yet 
— no,  it  may  not  be  !  "  murmurs  she,  interrupting  herself  and 
letting  her  arms  sink  down  to  her  side.  u  No,  it  may  not,  can- 
not be  !  They  would  kill  him  !  If  Bardissi  did  not,  L'Elfi 
would  !  And  then  my  oath  !  0  Mourad,  be  with  me  in  this 
hour,  that  I  may  remain  firm  !  Be  strong,  my  heart !  It  may 
not  be  !  " 

The  door  opened,  and  a  slave  entered  to  announce  that  the 
Mameluke  bey,  Youssouf,  was  waiting  at  the  door  with  his 
suite,  and  humbly  begged  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  sec 
Sitta  Nefysseh. 

"  Let  him  enter,"  said  she,  making  an  effort  to  compose 
herself.  "  Tell  my  women  to  go  into  the  adjoining  room,  and 
to  open  the  door." 

Poor  woman's  heart !  So  strong  in  love,  and  yet  so  weak  ! 
These  women  and  the  open  door  were  to  stand  guard  over 
her  heart,  and  keep  her  from  forgetting  all  else  in  his  pres- 
ence. 

Now  the  door  opens  and  Youssouf  enters.  It  seems  to  her 
that  he  has  grown  taller.  His  deeds  have  elevated  him,  and 
his  countenance  is  radiant  with  energy  and  courage.  Yet  he 
kneels  down  before  her,  and  kisses  the  hem  of  her  robe. 

"  Sitta  Nefysseh,  you  bade  rne  go,  and  I  went.  Upon  my 
return,  my  first  thoughts  were  of  you.  I  wished  to  hear  from 
your  sweet  lips  the  word  welcome  !  Do  you  speak  it,  Sitta 
Nefysseh  ? " 

"  Welcome,  Youssouf  Bey  !  How  beautiful  that  sounds — 
Youssouf  Bey  !  But  rise,  it  does  not  become  the  hero  to  bend 
the  knee  before  a  woman,  before  Nefysseh." 

"  I  was  your  slave  when  I  went,  now  that  I  have  returned 
I  am  your  slave  still.  And  thus  should  he  salute  his  mistress." 


412  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

He  bends  down  lower  and  kisses  the  gold-embroidered 
slipper  that  clasps  her  little  foot. 

"  Youssouf  ! "  she  cried,  in  severe  tones,  u  I  command  you 
to  rise  from  your  knees  ! " 

"You  see,  I  obey  you,  as  it  beseems  your  slave  to  do,"  said 
he,  springing  to  his  feet ;  "  and  he  now  begs  to  be  permitted  to 
enter  your  service  again." 

"  My  service  ? "  said  she,  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 
"  Mourad's  widow  is  not  so  proud  and  not  of  such  high 
rank  as  to  desire  to  have  a  troop  of  Mamelukes  in  her  service. 
You  know  I  liberated  all  my  Mamelukes  at  my  husband's 
death  ;  and  how  could  I,  who  have  so  few  servants  about  me, 
dare  to  take  a  Mameluke  bey  into  my  service  ?  No,  such 
honor  were  too  great  for  me.  You,  Youssouf  Bey,  must  go 
out  into  the  world  again.  You  will  still  accomplish  many 
great  deeds,  and  do  me  honor.  For,  when  your  deeds  are 
spoken  of,  people  will  say  :  '  He  was  once  a  Mameluke  with 
Mourad  Bey,  and  afterward  the  kachef  of  Sitta  Nefysseh.  It 
was  in  Mourad's  house  that  he  grew  up  and  became  a  hero.' 
That  suffices  for  me,  and  Sitta  Nefysseh  will  rejoice  in  your 
renown." 

"  Sitta  Nefysseh  ! "  cried  he,  in  tones  of  anguish,  "  you 
drive  me  from  you  !  I  have  done  as  you  commanded.  I 
went  out  to  battle  and  did  not  seek  death,  because  you  had 
forbidden  me  to  do  so,  but  fought  like  a  lion,  and  earned  a 
name.  Now  that  I  have  returned,  you  refuse  to  give  me  the 
one  reward  I  desire.  While  the  bullets  whistled  about  me, 
amid  the  din  of  battle,  I  thought  only  of  Sitta  Nefysseh,  who 
would  bid  me  welcome  when  I  returned  home,  and  restore  to 
me  my  place  in  her  house.  This  was  the  only  reward  I 
sought.  And  now  you  drive  me  from  you  !  " 

She  had  listened  to  him  in  breathless  suspense.  It  was 
bliss  to  hear  his  words,  yet  her  countenance  must  not  betray 
her.  She  slowly  raised  her  eyes,  and  then  gazed  at  him,  long 
and  fixedly. 

"  Youssouf  Bey,"  said  she,  u  you  cannot  remain  with  me, 
and  though  it  may  seem  hard  to  you  to-day,  to-morrow  you 
will  confess  that  it  is  impossible.  Youssouf  Bey  was  not  cre- 
ated for  such  purposes.  He  is  a  hero  !  Without,  your  men 


THE  RETURN  TO  CAIRO.  413 

await  you.  Return  to  them.  Those  who  imagine  that  peace 
has  entered  the  city  with  you  are  in  error.  There  are  still 
many  laurels  to  be  earned  by  Youssouf  Bey  on  the  battle- 
field. Go  and  gather  them  !  " 

u  They  have  no  charms  for  me  ;  I  desire  only  to  look  on 
you,  to  love  you,  Sitta  Nefysseh  !  To  remain  with  you  and 
dream  of  bliss,  and  perhaps — " 

"  Be  still  !  "  cried  she,  interrupting  him.  "  Do  you  wish 
my  women  to  hear  what  your  folly  dictates  ?  Mourad's  widow 
commands  you  to  be  silent.  Now  you  have  terminated  our 
interview.  Go,  join  your  men  !  " 

'*  Forgive  me,  Sitta,  forgive  me  !  By  Allah,  I  entreat  you, 
do  not  deal  so  severely  with  your  poor  Youssouf  !  You  are 
lustrous,  yet  also  cold  like  the  diamond  !  You  know  no 
mercy  ;  for,  alas,  you  know  not  love  !  Yet,  I  conjure  you,  be 
merciful  ;  do  not  drive  me  from  you  ;  and  I  swear  that  I  will 
speak  no  more  of  love,  but  only  serve  you  as  your  faithful 
slave  ! " 

"  Let  us  terminate  this  interview,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  I  shall  remain  convinced  that  you  should  not  stay  in  my 
house,  and  you  will  therefore  go." 

4i  I  must  go  ! "  cried  he,  in  despairing  tones,  "  yet  others 
may  approach  you  !  The  great  Bardissi  will  be  welcome,  and 
L'Elfi  may  also  come.  They  may  speak  to  you  of  their  love 
and  adoration,  but  me  you  command  to  depart  !  " 

"  No,  Youssouf,"  cried  she,  "  to  them  I  shall  say,  depart 
also  !  I  swear  by  Allah  and  by  my — " 

She  stopped,  she  had  almost  pronounced  the  word  that 
trembled  on  her  lips.  "  By  my  love,"  she  had  almost  said, 
yet,  with  quick  command  of  herself,  she  added  : 

"By  my  honor,  Bardissi  and  L'Elfi  shall  visit  me  no  more  ! 
From  this  day  the  doors  of  my  house  are  closed  against  all 
men  ;  this  I  swear  to  you,  Youssouf  !  " 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  for  doing  so,"  said  Youssouf,  sadly. 
"If  no  man  is  to  cross  your  threshold,  I  also  am  banished 
from  your  presence,  and  I  therefore  rather  entreat  you  to  let 
others  visit  you,  in  order  that  I  too  may  come  to  you  some- 
times." 

There  was  something  so  humble,  so  imploring  in  his  voice 


414  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

and  look,  that  Sitta  Nefysseh's  heart  was  touched  against  her 
will.  She  could  not  do  otherwise,  she  held  out  her  hand  and 
gave  him  a  kindly  look. 

''I  have  sworn  that  no  other  man  should  cross  my  thresh- 
old ;  but  you,  Youssouf,  you  may  come  sometimes." 

He  starts,  and  gazes  at  her  intently.  Her  voice  sounds  so 
sweet,  so  changed,  and  his  eyes  sparkle  with  delight. 

She  quickly  withdraws  her  hand  and  looks  down.  She 
feels  that  she  has  betrayed  herself  for  a  moment,  she  feels  the 
ardent  gaze  that  is  fastened  on  her,  and  dares  not  look  up, 
for  fear  that  he  may  read  the  love  that  is  reflected  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Farewell,  Youssouf  Bey  !  I  tell  you,  you  may  some- 
times come,  but  farewell  for  the  present." 

She  turns,  and,  without  looking  at  him  again,  goes  into 
the  other  room,  where  her  women  are  awaiting  her.  With  a 
quick  movement  she  draws  the  curtain  over  the  door  ;  she 
knows  that  no  one  must  see  him  at  this  moment  ;  she  knows 
he  wiD  fall  on  his  knees  and  kiss  the  place  where  she  stood. 
Yes,  she  knows  this,  for  she  loves  him,  and  understands  his 
heart. 

And  she  is  right  !  He  has  fallen  on  his  knees,  and,  again 
and  again,  kisses  the  spot  where  she  stood.  Then  he  stretches 
out  his  arms  and  opens  his  lips  to  utter  a  sweet  word.  Yet, 
he  does  not  pronounce  it,  for,  if  what  he  thinks  be  true,  the 
air  itself  may  not  hear  it  !  No,  his  lips  utter  no  word  !  He 
only  kisses  the  air  she  has  breathed.  And  now  can  he  go,  for 
she  has  said  that  he  may  return  ! 

He  turns  and  leaves  the  house  ;  his  soldiers  have  never 
seen  their  kachefs  countenance  so  radiant  as  now.  He  mounts 
his  horse,  and  gallops  off  through  the  streets,  followed  by  his 
Mamelukes. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  hears  his  horse's  hoofs  ring  out  against  the 
pavement,  and,  like  him,  she  sinks  down  upon  her  knees,  and 
stretches  out  her  arms.  "  Youssouf,  I  love  you  1  Allah  be 
praised,  I  have  seen  you  again  ! " 


MOHAMMED  ALT  AND   BARDISSI.  415 

CHAPTER  XI. 

MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  BARDISSI. 

SlTTA  NEFYSSEH  was  right :  peace  had  not  entered  Cairo 
with  the  victorious  troops.  War  and  turmoil  prevailed  every- 
where, and  the  confusion  became  worse  each  day. 

The  Mamelukes  now  ruled  once  more  in  Cairo,  and,  with 
them,  Mohammed  Ali,  Bardissi's  beloved  friend. 

Ismail  Bey  sat  enthroned  in  the  citadel,  and  was  the  out- 
ward representative  of  the  magnificence  and  grandeur  of  the 
Mamelukes,  but  the  real  rulers  were  Bardissi  and  Mohammed 
Ali.  And  these  two  found  no  pleasure  in  lying  on  soft  cush- 
ions, and  speaking  of  the  deeds  of  the  past.  They  longed  for 
renewed  activity,  for  new  glory  !  And,  even  if  this  had  not 
been  the  case,  they  would,  nevertheless,  have  been  compelled 
to  draw  the  sword  again.  For  the  Turks  were  marching  out 
from  Alexandria,  and  many  places  in  the  south  were  still  in 
their  hands. 

Mohammed  and  Bardissi's  united  forces  march  out  to  a 
succession  of  conflicts,  ever  returning  to  Cairo  crowned  with 
victory. 

Bardissi  and  Mohammed  are  united  in  love  and  friendship, 
and,  though  the  former  seems  to  be  the  ruler,  the  latter  reigns 
in  reality.  The  whole  city  is  aware  of  this,  and  those  who  have 
complaints  to  make,  and  seek  redress,  come  not  to  Bardissi, 
but  to  Mohammed  Ali.  To  him,  also,  come  the  consuls  of 
other  countries,  of  England  and  France,  and  have  long  and 
protracted  interviews  with  him. 

The  object  of  their  meetings  is  known  to  no  one.  Their 
conferences  are  always  private,  and  Bardissi  learns  of  them 
only  what  Mohammed  chooses  to  tell  him.  "  Does  he  tell 
him  the  truth  ? " 

Bardissi  is  convinced  that  he  does,  and  also  convinced 
that  he  and  Mohammed  are  in  perfect  accord  with  each 
other. 

Ismail,  the  Mameluke  chief,  is  of  a  different  opinion,  and 
often  warns  the  magnanimous  Osman  Bey  Bardissi. 


416  MOHAMMED    ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"Be  on  your  guard  against  Mohammed  All;  he  has  evil 
designs.  Be  on  your  guard  ! " 

Bardissi  shakes  his  head.  "  Do  not  attempt  to  rob  me  of 
my  friend,  my  second  self.  I  love  him,  and  I  know  that  he 
loves  me  ! " 

"  He  will  lead  us  all  to  destruction,  if  he  can  ! "  said  Ismail, 
solemnly.  "Mohammed  Ali  is  not  the  faithful  friend  you 
suppose  him  to  be  I  Unfortunately,  the  future  will  prove  to 
you  that  my  warning  was  well  founded." 

Bardissi  disregards  the  warning,  and  angrily  affirms  Mo- 
hammed's fidelity.  He  can  confide  in  his  friend,  and  in  the 
wisdom  of  his  counsel.  And,  as  before,  Bardissi  continues  to 
follow  Mohammed's  advice  in  all  things. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

•  AGAINST  THE  MAMELUKES. 

WHILE  the  Mameluke  beys,  Ismail  and  Bardissi,  were  vic- 
torious at  Cairo,  L/Elfi  Bey  still  lay  with  his  followers  at  Nisi- 
bis.  There  he  ruled,  and  there  his  Mamelukes  robbed,  plun- 
dered, and  tyrannized  over  the  inhabitants. 

The  governor,  Courschid  Pacha,  was  again  firmly  estab- 
lished in  Alexandria,  where  he  was  assembling  new  forces, 
and  preparing  to  march  against  Cairo  and  the  Mamelukes,  and 
also  against  Mohammed  Ali  and  his  Albanians  and  Arme- 
nians ;  he  only  awaited  the  sultan's  decision.  He  had  sent  to 
Stamboul  intelligence  of  all  that  had  occurred — of  Cousrouf's 
flight,  and  of  his  defeat  and  capture  at  Damietta. 

"  Who  is  now  to  be  appointed  viceroy  ? "  This  was  the 
question  to  be  decided  at  Stamboul. 

"Do  you  command,  O  master,  that  our  troops  march 
against  Cairo  to  drive  out  the  Mamelukes,  and  reinstate  Cous- 
rouf  as  viceroy  !  Command,  O  master,  and  your  servants  will 
obey  1 " 

While  the  Turks  were  awaiting  an  answer  from  Stam- 
boul, affairs  in  Cairo  were  becoming  more  and  more  com- 


AGAINST  THE   MAMELUKES.  417 

plicated,  and  law  and  order  no  longer  reigned  there.  The 
Mamelukes  were  daily  becoming  more  violent  and  overbear- 
ing. They  roamed  through  the  city  in  bands,  plundering  and 
burning,  and  the  beys  could  no  longer  control  them.  Daily 
the  sufferings  of  the  people  became  greater,  and  their  hatred 
of  the  lawless  Mamelukes  more  intense. 

Robbed  and  outraged  as  they  were,  they  were,  in  addition, 
continually  being  called  on  to  pay  new  taxes  to  their  detested 
rulers. 

The  Mameluke  beys,  Bardissi  and  Ismail,  need  money, 
need  it  more  than  ever.  But  where  are  they  to  get  it  ?  The 
question  is  a  perplexing,  a  tormenting  one,  and  with  dismay 
Bardissi  submits  it  to  his  faithful  friend  and  untiring  adviser, 
the  sarechsme,  Mohammed  Ali. 

And  it  was  Mohammed  who  continually  advised  the  impo- 
sition of  new  taxes,  and  who  was  constantly  engaged  with 
Bardissi  in  devising  new  means  of  raising  money  ;  and  the 
imposition  of  each  new  burden  was  the  signal  for  a  new  cry 
of  rage  from  the  oppressed  people.  The  soldiers,  too,  began  to 
murmur  again,  and  to  loudly  demand  their  long-withheld 
pay. 

The  Albanians  and  Armenians,  subject  to  Mohammed  Ali, 
were  held  by  him  in  severe  discipline.  He  did  not  allow  his 
soldiers  to  make  thieves  and  robbers  of  themselves.  He 
threatened  with  instant  death  all  who  should  be  caught  in  the 
act.  They,  however,  clamored  all  the  more  loudly  for  pay. 

Mohammed  listened  to  them  quietly,  and  seemed  to  be 
touched  by  their  complaints.  "  But,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  it  does 
not  rest  with  me  to  pay  you,  neither  can  I  do  so.  I  am  poor 
myself  ;  I  have  nothing  to  live  on  but  my  pay,  and  that  is 
withheld  from  me  also.  I  therefore  have,  unfortunately, 
nothing  to  give  my  soldiers.  Only  the  chiefs,  Ismail  or  Bar- 
dissi, can  give  you  your  pay." 

His  soldiers  have  understood  him.  They  salute  their  sa- 
rechsme, go  away,  and  say  nothing. 

Mohammed  well  knows  where  the  swarm  of  soldiers  that 
bad  stood  before  his  house  have  now  gone,  led  by  their  him 
bashis. 

They  rush,  their  numbers  increasing  on  the  way,  to  the 


418  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

house  where  Bardissi  resides.  With  loud  cries  they  demand 
to  speak  with  Bardissi  himself. 

He  appears,  and  asks  why  they  have  come.  The  vestibule 
of  the  palace  is  already  crowded  with  soldiers,  and  new  masses 
are  continually  pouring  into  the  court-yard.  In  reply  to  Bar- 
dissi's  question,  they  all  cry  loudly  :  "  We  have  come  for  our 
pay  !  We  want  money  !  We  are  hungry  1  We  want  our 
pay,  our  money  !  " 

"  Go  hack  to  your  quarters,  and  remain  there,  quietly  ! " 
cries  Bardissi.  "In  two  days  you  shall  have  your  pay. 
Go!" 

"  We  will  wait  no  longer  ! "  cries  a  him  bashi,  and  they  all 
cry  after  him  :  "  We  want  our  money  !  We  will  not  leave 
here  until  we  are  paid  !  " 

They  press  farther  and  farther  into  the  house,  more  and 
more  fiercely  demanding  their  pay.  Suddenly,  a  loud,  firm 
voice  resounds  from  the  court-yard  : 

"  What  does  this  mean,  soldiers  ?  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  How  dare  you  force  your  way  into  the  palace  of  the 
chief?" 

A  smile  lights  up  Bardissi's  countenance.  This  is  his 
friend  Mohammed  Ali.  He  will  extricate  him  from  his  em- 
barrassing position. 

Yes,  it  is  he,  the  sarechsme,  at  whose  approach  the  men 
respectfully  fall  back  and  make  room.  He  enters  the  palace 
and  hastens  to  Bardissi. 

u  Oh,  forgive  me  !  I  knew  not  that  my  soldiers  had  dared  to 
come  here.  They  also  came  to  me  and  demanded  their  pay  ; 
I  had  none  to  give  them,  yet  I  had  no  idea  they  would  go  so 
far  as  to  annoy  you  personally." 

Bardissi  makes  no  reply.  He  only  looks  at  his  friend,  and 
grasps  his  hand  warmly. 

"I  thank  you,  Mohammed,  for  having  come." 

"  It  is  my  duty,  Bardissi,"  replies  he,  loud  enough  to  be  un- 
derstood by  all  his  soldiers.  "  Yes,  it  is  the  duty  of  the  sa- 
rechsme to  be  identified  with  his  soldiers  ;  and  if,  impelled  by 
their  want,  they  went  too  far,  I  beg  for  their  forgiveness  ;  but 
I  also  beg  that  justice  be  done  them  ;  and  their  demands  are 
just.  They  are  in  great  want,  for  I  have  forbidden  them  to 


AGAINST  THE  MAMELUKES.  419 

rob  and  plunder.  They  have  long  waited  patiently  for  their 
pay.  But  I  beg  you  to  give  it  them  now,  Bardissi." 

The  soldiers  who  had  heard  all,  cried  loudly  :  "  Long  live 
our  sarechsme  1  Long  live  Bardissi,  our  chief  ! " 

"Believe  me,  soldiers,  he  will  give  you  your  pay  ! — Will 
you  not,  Bardissi  ? " 

"  Yes,  sarechsme,  your  soldiers  shall  receive  their  pay.  I 
give  you  my  word,  they  shall  be  paid  to-morrow.  Come  to 
the  citadel,  to  my  defterdar  to-morrow  morning,  and  he  will 
pay  you." 

"  You  have  heard  it,  soldiers  :  you  are  to  be  paid  to-mor* 
row.  And  now  go  ! " 

But  no  one  moved  ;  they  stood  still,  grumbling  in  low 
tones. 

"What,"  cried  the  sarechsme,  with  sparkling  eyes,  "you 
dare  to  remain  when  I  have  told  you  to  go  !  Do  you  distrust 
the  promise  of  Osman  Bey  Bardissi,  and  of  your  general  2 
Go,  I  tell  you  !  You  are  to  be  paid  to-morrow.  Therefore,  go 
and  wait  ! "  ' 

They  no  longer  dare  to  defy,  and  quietly  withdraw. 

Bardissi  grasps  his  friend's  hand  again.  "  I  thank  you. 
You  have  freed  me  from  much  embarrassment ;  you  have 
done  me  a  great  service.  But  I  beg  you  to  lend  me  your 
kindly  assistance  still  further.  Tell  me  where  am  I  to  get  the 
money  with  which  to  pay  the  soldiers  to-morrow  ? " 

"  To-morrow  ?  Why  trouble  yourself  about  to-morrow  ? 
I  will  endeavor  to  keep  the  soldiers  quiet  for  a  few  days,  and, 
in  the  meanwhile,  we  will  devise  new  plans  for  raising 
money.  I  know  of  one  means  that  I  have  often  thought  of." 

"  Name  it,  my  friend  ! " 

"It  is  dangerous." 

"  Name  it,  nevertheless.  No  matter  about  the  danger,  pro. 
vided  I  raise  money." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mohammed,  deliberately,  "  it  seems  un- 
just to  me  that  our  people  should  bear  the  burden  of  taxation 
alone  !  Why  should  not  a  tax  be  imposed  on  the  Franks  and 
Levantines  also  ? " 

"  On  the  foreigner  ? "  said  Bardissi,  with  a  start.  "  That 
has  never  been  done,  that  I  am  aware  of." 


420  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Then  let  it  be  done  now  for  the  first  time.  They  have 
been  allowed  to  accumulate  wealth  here,  without  bearing  any 
of  the  burdens  of  government." 

"You  are  right :  it  should  be  done.  My  defterdar  shall 
take  the  necessary  steps  at  once.  The  Levantines  and  Franks 
shall  be  made  to  pay  this  very  day,  and  your  soldiers  shall 
have  the  money." 

Bardissi  hastily  departed  to  give  the  necessary  instruc- 
tions. 

Mohammed  Ali  returned  slowly  to  his  house,  a  complacent 
smile  on  his  countenance.  ''  Only  continue  in  your  present 
course,  and  you  will  soon  fall  into  the  pit  I  have  dug  for  you 
and  yours.  Proceed  !  Your  new  tax  will  create  quite  a  sen- 
sation ! " 

He  was  right.     The  new  tax  did  create  a  sensation. 

Bardissi's  officials  flew  from  house  to  house,  levying  a  con- 
tribution of  five  hundred  sequins  from  each  Frank  and  Le- 
vantine. 

Their  demands  were  met  everywhere  with  violent  opposi- 
tion, and  caused  general  dismay.  All  the  consuls  repaired  to 
the  citadel,  to  Bardissi,  to  protest,  in  the  names  of  their  re- 
spective countries,  against  this  unexpected  outrage.  Bardissi 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  their  protests  and  entreaties.  He  thought 
only  of  his  empty  coffers,  and  of  the  necessity  of  paying  the 
soldiers  on  the  following  day.  Nothing  could  induce  him  to 
retract  his  action.  The  collection  of  the  tax  was  enforced,  and 
the  money  extqrted  from  the  foreigners.  The  consuls,  how- 
ever, incensed  at  the  outrage,  and  resolved  not  to  submit  to 
such  treatment,  left  Cairo  in  a  body,  followed  by  their  entire 
households,  to  repair  to  Alexandria  to  take  up  their  residence 
there.  But,  during  the  night  preceding  their  departure,  the 
French  consul  had  a  long  private  conference  with  Moham- 
med Ali. 

What  passed  at  this  interview  no  one  knew.  At  daybreak 
Mohammed  accompanied  the  consul  to  the  door  of  his  house, 
and,  in  taking  leave  of  him,  said  in  a  low  voice  :  "  Only  wait. 
The  fruit  is  ripe  and  will  soon  fall.  Tell  Courschid  Pacha  I 
am  working  for  him,  and  am  still  the  sultan's  faithful  serv- 
ant. Though  it  seem  otherwise,  I  am  still  working  for  him. 


AGAINST   THE   MAMELUKES.  421 

Be  assured,  I  shall  act-  promptly  when  the  time  for  action 
comes." 

On  the  following  morning  the  defterdar  gave  the  troops 
half  their  pay,  the  sum  raised  by  the  tax  imposed  on  the  for- 
eigners not  being  sufficient  to  liquidate  the  whole  amount. 
The  soldiers,  however,  were  not  satisfied  with  receiving  half 
their  pay,  and  went  away  grumbling.  This  gave  only  tempo- 
rary relief,  and  soon  the  whole  army  was  dissatisfied,  clamor- 
ing for  pay  and  ripe  for  revolt. 

New  taxes  had  to  be  imposed,  and  the  burden  fell  upon  the 
hapless  people.  The  tax-gatherers  made  their  circuit  again, 
and  mercilessly  collected  the  tax,  in  spite  of  the  opposition 
and  lamentations  of  the  sorely-oppressed  people.  If  they  re- 
fused to  pay,  the  amount  was  raised  by  selling  their  houses. 
The  enraged,  despairing  people  no  longer  grumbled,  but 
rushed  howling  and  crying  in  dense  masses  to  the  Mosque  El- 
Ayar,  declaring  that  they  would  rather  die  than  longer  endure 
such  outrages. 

The  monster — rebellion — raises  its  head  again,  and  the  up- 
roar of  revolt  resounds  through  all  Cairo. 

The  cadis  and  sheiks  hasten  to  the  mosque  to  use  their  in- 
fluence in  tranquillizing  the  people,  but  in  vain.  The  only 
response  to  their  representations  is,  "  We  cannot,  we  will  not 
pay  more  ! " 

The  vast  hall  of  the  mosque  resounds  with  their  lamenta- 
tions and  cries  of  rage.  Suddenly  Mohammed  Ali,  followed 
by  a  few  of  his  soldiers,  appears  on  the  threshold.  In  a  loud 
voice  he  begs  the  people  to  disperse  ;  in  Bardissi's  name  he 
promises  that  the  collection  of  the  new  tax  shall  not  be 
enforced.  He  had  gone  to  Bardissi  and  entreated  him  to  tor- 
ment the  people  no  longer,  and  Bardissi  had  yielded  to  his 
entreaties. 

"Repair  quietly  to  your  homes,  and  fear  no  longer  for 
your  property.  I  interceded  for  you,  and  Bardissi  gave  me 
his  solemn  promise  that  the  tax  should  not  be  enforced." 

The  spacious  mosque  resounds  with  shouts  of  delight.  The 
people  cry,  "  Long  live  Mohammed  Ali  ! "  All  rush  forward 
to  grasp  his  hand  and  assure  him  of  their  friendship  and  de- 
votion. 


422  MOHAMMED   ALT   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

Mohammed  feels  that  he  has  won  the  people  by  his  shrewd 
course.  Those  who  meet  him  in  the  streets  salute  him  with 
reverence  and  devotion,  and  call  down  blessings  on  his  head. 
When  they  meet  the  Mameluke  beys,  they  look  down  and 
knit  their  brows ;  they  have  made  themselves  odious  to  the  peo- 
ple, and  are  hourly  becoming  more  and  more  detested  by  them. 

The  thunder-clouds  are  gathering  rapidly  on  the  heads  of 
the  Mameluke  beys.  They  see  the  coming  storm  in  the  angry 
looks  of  those  who  approach  them  ;  they  feel  it  in  the  soli- 
tude that  surrounds  them.  Curses  are  invoked  upon  their 
heads  by  the  people,  and  not  blessings,  as  upon  Mohammed 
Ali's  head. 

Mohammed  quietly  prepares  for  the  future  ;  nothing  is  left 
to  accident.  No  unlooked-for  event  must  break  in  upon  his 
plans,  and  destroy  him  with  the  rest.  Let  the  fruit  fall  when 
ripe,  and  fall  so  deep  into  the  abyss  that  no  hand  can  pluck  it 
thence  ! 

The  consuls  have  left  Cairo,  but  after  a  few  days  the 
French  consul  returns  secretly  to  the  city,  accompanied  by 
the  chief  sec  retary  of  the  governor,  Courschid  Pacha  ;  at 
night  and  disguised,  they  glide  stealthily  through  the  streets 
of  Cairo.  They  repair  to  the  house  of  Mohammed  Ali,  and 
remain  there  in  earnest  and  eager  conversation  with  the 
sarechsme  throughout  the  entire  night.  And  again,  as  on 
the  occasion  of  a  former  conference,  the  consul  takes  his  de- 
parture before  the  dawn  of  day. 

The  governor's  secretary  remains  with  Mohammed.  He 
still  has  a  document  to  present  to  him,  and  Mohammed's  eyes 
sparkle  as  he  reads  it. 

"I  have  but  one  further  request  to  make  of  his  excel- 
lency. " 

"What  is  it,  sarechsme  ?  I  am  instructed  to  comply  with 
your  wishes  in  all  things." 

"  I  only  wish  to  read  the  firman  to  Cousrouf  myself." 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  desire,  sarechsme.  If  you  ask  this  as  a 
reward  for  your  faithful  services,  it  is  a  petty  one  indeed  ; 
you  are,  however,  I  believe,  soon  to  receive  a  much  greater 
one.  When  Courschid  enters  Cairo,  he  will  appoint  you  a 
pacha  of  two  tails." 


AGAINST   THE   MAMELUKES.  423 

Mohammed  hastily  averted  his  face,  and  made  no  re- 
ply. No  one  should  see  that  the  intelligence  made  him. 
rejoice. 

The  fruit  is  ripe  and  ready  to  fall ;  the  time  for  action  has 
come. 

On  the  following  morning,  a  body  of  soldiers  marches  out 
and  surrounds  the  quarter  of  the  city  in  which  the  Mameluke 
beys  reside. 

Bardissi  and  Ismail  have  both  left  the  citadel,  and  now 
dwell  in  the  city.  There  they  can  live  more  comfortably  and 
conveniently  than  up  in  the  citadel  ;  and  the  Mameluke  beys 
are  in  the  habit  of  attaching  more  importance  to  their  comfort 
than  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  quarter  in  which  they  reside 
is  completely  surrounded  by  soldiers.  They  do  not  notice  it, 
however  ;  these  grand  gentlemen  are  taking  their  ease  in  their 
palaces. 

Bardissi  is  in  his  harem.  He  has  consoled  himself  for 
Sitta  Nefysseh's  cruelty  and  coldness  ;  the  beautiful  Georgian 
and  Circassian  slaves  that  throng  his  harem-well  know  how 
to  make  him  forget  the  past  with  their  songs  and  dances,  their 
sweet  words  and  soft  looks. 

There  he  lies  on  his  cushions,  gazing  dreamily  at  their 
dancing. 

Suddenly  a  shot  is  heard,  then  a  second  follows,  and  a  ball 
strikes  the  wall  of  his  house. 

Bardissi  bounds  from  his  cushions,  and  the  dance  is  at  an 
end.  He  rushes  out  into  the  court-yard  to  learn  the  cause  of 
the  firing.  The  street  and  square  are  filled  with  soldiers,  and 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  square,  in  front  of  the  arsenal, 
whole  batteries  are  in  position,  as  though  a  battle  were  to  be 
fought. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  Who  has  led  these  troops  against 
us  ?  Are  those  not  Albanians  and  Armenians  ? " 

A  loud,  a  fearful  cry  resounds  from  Bardissi's  lips  :  "  Those 
are  Mohammed  Ali's  troops,  and  it  is  he  who  is  leading  them 
against  us.  It  is  he  who  has  planned  my  destruction.  Then 
let  us  also  prepare  for  battle  ourselves.  They  shall  see  that 
Bardissi  is  not  so  easily  trapped.  Let  us  defend  ourselves  in 
this  house  as  in  a  fortress.  Close  all  the  doors  and  gates. 


424  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

Quick,  ye  soldiers,  prepare  for  battle  !    Ye  cannoneers,  do  your 
duty  ! " 

He  calls  to  the  cannoneers  who  stand  by  the  guns  crown- 
ing the  wall  that  surrounds  his  house.  But  the  cannoneers 
refuse  to  obey  him. 

Another  loud  cry  escapes  Bardissi's  lips.  Now  he  under- 
stands Mohammed's  action,  and  knows  why  the  troops  were 
relieved,  others  sent  to  his  palace  a  few  days  before,  and  why 
a  new  body-guard  had  been  assigned  him. 

These  are  Mohammed's  men,  and  they  now  refuse  obedi- 
ence to  Bardissi. 

He  now  comprehends  Mohammed's  whole  scheme,  and  his 
heart  is  filled  with  anguish  and  immeasurable  wrath. 

"  Alas  !  Nothing  is  left  me  but  to  flee.  Come,  my  Mame- 
lukes. Load  the  dromedaries  with  the  treasure  ;  let  the 
women  enter  the  carriages.  Quick,  we  must  act  with  the  speed 
of  lightning.  You,  my  faithful  Youssouf,  you  will  stand  by 
me  as  you  stood  by  Mourad." 

"I  will  fight  beside  you  while  life  lasts." 

All  is  now  activity.  The  dromedaries  are  laden  with 
treasure,  with  chests  of  gold  and  silver  coins,  with  jewelry, 
Persian  carpets,  furs,  and  silken  garments.  The  women  enter 
the  closed  carriages  ;  the  eunuchs  take  their  place  beside 
them.  Now  Bardissi  mounts  his  war-horse,  beside  him  his 
best  and  truest  friend,  Youssouf,  and  many  others  of  his  faith- 
ful followers. 

The  Mamelukes  now  throw  open  the  gates,  and  with  up- 
lifted swords,  ready  for  the  conflict,  sally  forth  from  the 
court-yard. 

The  soldiers  who  have  surrounded  the  palace  see  with 
wonder  the  gates  open,  Bardissi  and  his  followers  as  they  rush 
forth,  the  heavily-laden  dromedaries,  and  the  carriages  filled 
with  women.  The  conflict  begins,  a  fierce  conflict,  the  mus- 
ketry rattles,  and  carries  death  into  the  ranks  of  both. 

Erect  on  his  war-horse  Bardissi  leads  the  van.  He  fights 
his  way  through,  his  sword  mows  down  the  enemy  like  the 
scythe  of  death.  Youssouf,  his  faithful  kachef,  rides  beside 
him.  Like  Bardissi,  he  fights  like  a  lion,  and  hews  with  his 
trusty  sword  a  pathway  through  the  enemy's  ranks.  But  sud- 


AGAINST   THE   MAMELUKES.  425 

denly  a  well-aimed  ball  strikes  him,  he  reels  in  his  saddle,  and 
falls  with  a  low  moan  to  the  earth,  while  Bardissi  and  his  men 
press  on. 

He  succeeds  in  fighting  his  way  out  of  the  city.  Onward 
the  whole  train  flies  toward  Gheezeh. 

Bardissi  is  wounded  ;  his  right  hand  bleeds,  and  blood  is 
streaming  down  his  cheeks.  Bardissi  is  wounded,  yet  he  lives, 
and  is  saved.  On  they  press,  and  now  they  are  no  longer  fol- 
lowed. 

The  soldiers  have  still  much  to  do  in  Cairo.  Let  Bardissi 
flee  with  his  richly-laden  dromedaries  ;  let  him  depart  from 
Cairo  with  his  Mamelukes  ;  but  let  him  return  no  more. 

He  draws  rein  now  that  the  city  is  behind  him  ;  he  looks 
back,  and  a  tear  trickles  down  his  cheek  and  mingles  with  his 
blood. 

For  whom  was  this  tear  ? 

He  looks  back  toward  Cairo,  and  murmurs  :  "  O  Moham- 
med, that  you  have  betrayed  me  ;  this  is  bitter  ! " 

He  then  turns  his  horse  and  they  proceed  in  their  flight. — 
Yes,  there  is  still  much  work  to  be  done  in  Cairo.  It  is  not 
only  Bardissi  who  has  to  be  fought  and  driven  out ;  there  is 
Ismail,  the  chief  of  all  the  Mamelukes,  and  all  the  other  beys. 
All  this  lordly  game  is  to  be  chased  and  driven  to  bay  to-day, 
and  then  there  are  rich  spoils  to  be  gathered.  Bardissi  has 
hardly  quitted  his  house  when  the  soldiers  rush  into  it,  and 
begin  to  plunder  and  destroy  after  a  fashion  that  can  hardly 
be  surpassed  by  the  Mamelukes  themselves.  The  soldiers 
intend  to  pay  themselves  for  that  which  Bardissi  owes 
them. 

And  they  do  pay  themselves.  Bardissi  possesses  not  only 
this  but  other  houses  in  Cairo,  and  the  soldiers  plunder  them 
all,  leaving  nothing  behind  but  the  bare  walls. 

They  then  fall  upon  Ismail  Bey  ;  but  lie,  too,  succeeds  in 
cutting  his  way  through  the  enemy.  With  him  escape  almost 
all  the  Mameluke  beys  with  their  followers.  They  flee  far 
out  of  Cairo,  into  the  open  country. 

At  Gheezeh,  on  the  verge  of  the  desert,  the  Mamelukes 
lay  encamped  on  the  following  day.  and  there  the  beys  were 
assembled  around  their  hero,  Bardissi,  in  a  sad  consultation. 


426  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

True,  they  are  safe,  yet  they  feel  that  their  rule  in  Cairo  is  at 
an  end,  to  be  restored  no  more. 

"  At  an  end  is  the  rule  of  the  Mamelukes' ! "  cries  the  sa- 
rechsme,  Mohammed  Ali,  triumphantly.  In  the  night  he  sends 
out  messengers  requesting  the  cadis  and  sheiks  to  come  to  him, 
as  he  has  important  intelligence  to  communicate,  and  a  firman 
sent  to  him  by  the  grand-sultan  to  read  to  them.  The  cadis 
and  sheiks  hasten  to  obey  his  call. 

In  Mohammed's  apartment  they  find  Courschid  Pacha's 
chief  secretary,  who  reads  the  grand-sultan's  firman  to  them 
in  a  loud  voice. 

The  firman  appointed  Courschid  Pacha  Viceroy  of  Egypt 
and  Governor  of  Cairo,  and  commanded  all  the  authorities  to 
obey  and  serve  with  humility  and  devotion  the  representative 
of  their  grand  master,  who  would  arrive  in  Cairo  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  to  take  possession  of  the  fortress  and  receive  the 
oaths  of  the  officials. 

The  cadis  and  sheiks  express  themselves  ready  to  obey 
the  new  governor  in  all  things,  and  express  the  hope  that 
with  his  highness's  entrance  into  Cairo  a  new  era  of  peace  may 
dawn  for  their  bleeding  land. 

They  then  withdraw  to  proclaim  what  has  taken  place  to 
the  people  at  the  mosque  on  the  following  morning,  and  to 
exhort  them  to  be  peaceful  and  obedient. 

Mohammed,  however,  repaired  to  the  citadel,  accompanied 
by  a  bim  bashi  and  two  servants,  who  lead  two  asses  that  seemed 
to  be  equipped  for  a  journey.  On  arriving  at  the  citadel,  Mo- 
hammed left  the  others  in  the  court-yard,  and  ascended  alone 
to  the  apartment  where  Cousrouf  was  confined.  He  was  asleep 
when  Mohammed  entered.  He  stood  still  on  the  threshold 
for  a  moment,  gazing  at  his  prisoner. 

"  Wake  up,  Cousrouf  !  wake  up,  thou  Viceroy  of  Egypt, 
wake  up  ! " 

Cousrouf  starts  and  stares  at  him. 

"  What  is  it  ?    Who  calls  me  ? " 

"  Your  devoted  servant,  the  sarechsme  by  your  grace,  Mo- 
hammed Ali,  calls  you." 

"  I  know  by  your  voice  that  you  have  come  to  kill  me  1 " 
cried  Cousrouf,  springing  to  his  feet. 


AGAINST   THE   MAMELUKES.  427 

Mohammed  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  Had  I  desired  your  death,  you  would  long  since  have 
stood  before  Allah's  throne,  to  render  an.  account  of  your 
crimes.  No,  Cousrouf,  I  have  not  come  to  kill  you,  but  to 
read  to  you  a  message  from  the  grand-sultan  at  Stamboul." 

Cousrouf  bowed  his  head. 

"  You  mean  my  condemnation.  Were  it  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  my  right  and  a  restoration  to  authority,  Mohammed 
Ali  would  not  have  come  to  announce  it.  Eead  ! " 

The  sarechsme  unfolded  the  paper,  and  read  in  a  loud  voice 
the  firman  which  deposed  Cousrouf  from  the  office  of  viceroy. 

"  For  he  has  performed  its  duties  badly,  and  not  proved 
worthy  of  our  favor.  He  has  been  vanquished  by  rebels,  and 
has  sought  safety  in  flight,  instead  of  dying  in  the  fulfilment 
of  his  duty.  Humiliated  and  disgraced,  he  has  been  brought 
a  prisoner  to  the  palace  in  which  he  once  ruled.  Cousrouf  is 
entirely  unworthy  of  the  honors  conferred  on  him,  and  is 
hereby  deposed  from  his  office  and  dignities,  and  forbidden 
ever  to  present  himself  before  the  grand-sultan,  or  to  show 
himself  at  Stamboul  in  the  holy  empire  of  the  grand-sultan. 
He  is  banished  and  exiled  from  the  empire,  and  his  name  must 
never  be  mentioned  in  the  hearing  of  the  grand-sultan.  He 
is  to  be  conveyed  to  the  fort  built  on  the  island  of  Imbro, 
there  to  remain  until  he  dies.  Such  are  the  commands  of  the 
grand-sultan,  his  gracious  master." 

When  Mohammed  finishes  reading,  profound  silence  en- 
sues. Cousrouf  utters  no  word  in  reply.  He  stands  there, 
motionless,  pale  as  a  corpse,  staring  at  Mohammed.  He  seems 
to  be  still  listening  to  the  words  he  has  heard,  to  the  fearful 
announcement  of  his  fall  and  disgrace. 

"  To  Imbro  you  go,"  said  Mohammed  Ali,  after  a  pause. 
"  Do  you  remember  Imbro  ? " 

No  word  comes  from  Cousrouf's  pale  lips  ;  he  slowly  shakes 
his  head. 

"  Imbro  is  a  little  island,  opposite  Ca valla,  and  for  the  se- 
lection of  this  place  you  are  indebted  to  me,  Cousrouf.  Do 
you  know  why  I  selected  it  ?  From  the  windows  of  your 
prison  you  can  see  Cavalla,  the  bay,  and  the  Ear  of  Buceph- 
alus. From  there  you  can  see  the  sea  and  the  coast,  can  see 


428  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

the  place  where  on  that  night  the  poor  hoy  lay  on  the  shore, 
also  the  place  where  Masa  sank  beneath  the  waves.  You  shall 
see  this  place,  Cousrouf.  I  know  your  gaze  will  often  turn  in 
that  direction,  and  I  know  you  will  think  of  me  when  you 
look  at  the  coast,  Cousrouf.  Your  life  shall  be  an  everlasting 
remorse.  This  is  my  revenge,  Cousrouf.  Throughout  the 
remainder  of  your  life  your  recollections  shall  torment  you, 
and  you  shall  gaze  upon  the  place  where  Masa  died,  and 
where  you  made  of  the  innocent  boy  a  hard-hearted  man.  At 
Imbro  you  shall  live,  Cousrouf,  and  I  shall  take  care  that 
you  sometimes  hear  of  me  there,  and  learn  what  has  become 
of  the  boy  who  lay  stretched  out  on  the  shore,  his  heart  torn 
with  anguish,  while  you  caused  that  which  he  held  dearest  on 
earth  to  be  sunk  in  the  cold  grave  of  the  waves.  This  is  our 
last  meeting,  yet  you  shall  often  hear  of  me,  and  this  I  tell 
you  in  advance  :  Cousrouf  Pacha,  where  you  stood  in  your 
power  and  magnificence,  there  shall  Mohammed  Ali  stand. 
He  will,  however,  be  more  powerful  than  you  were,  and  no  one 
shall  deal  with  him  as  he  has  dealt  with  you.  No  one  shall 
depose  him  from  his  place,  be  assured  of  this,  and  remember 
it  in  your  solitude  at  Imbro.  Bear  my  greeting  to  Cavalla,  to 
the  yellow  shore,  and  to  Masa's  deep,  blue  grave.  And  now  I 
have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you.  I  shall  send  up  the  him 
bashi  who  is  to  conduct  you  to  Alexandria,  and  accompany 
you  on  the  ship  to  your  home  at  Imbro.  Farewell  ! " 

He  turns  and  hastily  leaves  the  room,  without  looking 
again  at  Cousrouf,  who  stands  there  motionless  and  deathly 
pale. 

On  ascending  and  unlocking  the  door  of  Cousrouf's  prison, 
the  him  bashi  sees  him  stretched  out  on  the  floor,  pale  and 
motionless.  Is  he  dead  ?  Has  the  terrible  blow  destroyed 
him? 

It  were  well  for  Cousrouf  if  he  were  dead !  But  no ;  he 
lives!  He  had  only  for  the  moment  found  relief  in  in- 
sensibility from  the  consciousness  of  humiliation  and  dis- 
grace. 

He  returns  to  consciousness,  is  led  down  to  the  court- 
yard, mounted  on  his  ass,  and  conducted  by  the  him  bashi  and 
the  slaves  to  Alexandria.  From  there  he  is  transported  in  the 


LOVE   UJSTO   DEATH.  499 

vessel,  that  lies  in  readiness,  across  the  sea  to  Imbro,  to  the 
citadel,  from  whose  windows  he  can  see  Cavalla,  the  water, 
and  the  place  where  he  buried  Masa  beneath  the  cold,  blue 
waves. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LOVE  UNTO  DEATH. 

ON  the  afternoon  of  this  fearful  day,  all  was  again  restored 
to  quiet  in  the  streets  of  Cairo.  The  terror-stricken  inhabit- 
ants had  again  ventured  forth  from  their  houses,  and  were 
standing  in  groups,  discussing  in  subdued  voices  the  events  of 
the  day.  But  they  ceased  conversing  when  they  now  saw  the 
cadi  approaching  on  horseback,  and  in  advance  of  him  the 
public  crier.  In  the  cadi's  name  he  proclaimed  to  the  people 
a  general  amnesty  for  all  past  offences  :  "  The  new  viceroy  is 
to  enter  the  city  on  the  morrow.  Let  the  city  put  on  festive 
attire,  and  let  a  hearty  welcome  be  extended  him.  Remove 
from  the  streets  and  houses  all  traces  of  conflict  and  blood- 
shed. Bury  your  dead,  and  care  for  your  wounded,  ye  wives 
of  the  Mameluke  beys  and  the  kachefs.  Do  your  duty,  ye 
women  and  ye  servants." 

These  orders  of  the  cadi  were,  proclaimed  throughout  the 
entire  city  by  the  crier. 

But  now  the  veiled  women  come  out  into  the  streets  with 
their  servants,  and,  in  obedience  to  the  prophet's  injunctions, 
seek  the  wounded  and  suffering,  take  them  to  their  houses, 
and  care  for  them  tenderly. 

Many  of  the  dead  and  wounded  lie  in  front  of  Bardissi's 
palace — men  who  had  stood  faithfully  by  their  master,  and 
fallen  bravely  in  the  discharge  of  duty. 

A  number  of  women  approach  this  place.  Veiled  like  the 
rest  is  she  who  precedes  the  others  ;  yet  her  royal  bearing,  and 
the  deference  shown  her  by  the  servants  and  Mamelukes  who 
accompany  her,  proclaim  her  to  be  Sitta  Nefysseh.  She  is 
performing  her  woman's  duty  of  seeking  out  and  caring  for 
the  wounded.  She  stoops  down  over  the  bodies  that  lie 


430  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

stretched  out  on  the  earth,  and  suddenly  a  cry  escapes  her 
lips — a  single  cry  ;  she  then  beckons  to  the  servants,  who  have 
followed  them  with  stretchers,  for  the  transport  of  the  unfor- 
tunate. She  gazes  in  mute  horror  at  the  Mameluke  hey  who 
lies  there,  weltering  in  his  blood,  a  fearful  wound  on  his  fore- 
head, that  almost  renders  his  features  irrecognizable.  She, 
however,  distinguishes  her  lover,  and  commands  her  servants 
to  place  him  on  the  stretcher.  With  her  own  hands  she  binds 
up  his  wound,  and  covers  his  countenance  with  the  white 
cloths  handed  her  by  her  women.  She  then  orders  her  serv- 
ants to  carry  the  Mameluke  bey  to  her  house,  and  directs  her 
women  to  continue  their  search  for  the  wounded. 

She  walks  beside  the  stretcher  on  which  the  wounded  man 
lies.  He  does  not  move  ;  he  lies  there  insensible,  unconscious 
of  what  is  taking  place. 

Perhaps  Sitta  Nefysseh  is  only  conveying  a  corpse  to  her 
house  ! 

She  has  him  carried  up  into  the  second  story  of  her  house. 
There  he  is  laid  on  a  mat,  and  with  tender  hands  Sitta 
Nefysseh  herself  adjusts  the  cushions  and  pillows.  The  serv- 
ants bring  to  his  couch,  in  silver  bowls,  water  and  the  heal- 
ing ointment  which  Sitta  Nefysseh  had  prepared  with  her 
own  hands.  With  gentle  touch  she  wipes  the  blood  from  his 
countenance,  washes  out  the  wound,  and  applies  to  it  the 
ointment. 

She  neither  weeps  nor  laments.  Her  lips  are  mute,  and 
her  eyes  shed  no  tears.  Is  this  a  time  to  weep,  when  Yous- 
souf  Bey  is  suffering  and  needs  her  care  and  attention  ?  No, 
at  such  a  time  a  woman  must  be  strong.  She  will  have  time 
enough  for  tears  and  lamentation  in  her  after-life. 

The  fearful  gash  on  his  forehead  bears  silent  evidence  of 
this.  She  has  often  seen  similar  wounds,  and  bound  them  up 
herself. 

She  well  knows  that  Youssouf  Bey  is  wounded  unto  death 
— that  there  is  no  hope  of  recovery.  Yet  she  does  not  weep. 
With  Allah  all  is  possible,  and  he  may  be  gracious.  A  mir- 
acle may  occur ;  Youssouf's  youthful  vigor  and  his  heroic 
nature  may  yet  vanquish  Death.  Perhaps  her  love  may  pre- 
serve him.  Grant,  merciful  Allah,  that  it  be  so  1 


LOVE   UNTO   DEATH.  431 

Her  women  now  come  with  other  injured  Mamelukes,  who 
are  placed  on  the  mats  Sitta  Nefysseh  had  caused  to  be  spread 
out  for  them  in  the  adjoining  room. 

Sitta  Nefysseh  forbids  any  one  to  enter  the  room  where 
Youssouf  lies. 

"He  needs  repose,"  said  she,  stepping  into  the  adjoining 
room  to  see  that  the  other  wounded  were  being  well  cared  for. 
"  Youssouf  Bey  needs  repose.  Be  still,  move  noiselessly,  and 
do  not  disturb  his  sleep !  It  may  be  the  sleep  of  death.  Be 
still,  close  the  doors  and  draw  the  curtains,  that  no  noise  may 
reach  him  ! " 

It  is  perfectly  quiet  in  the  room  where  Youssouf  Bey  lies. 
Sitta  Nefysseh  kneels  beside  him.  Her  hands  folded  in  silent 
prayer,  her  eyes  fastened  on  his  countenance,  she  bends  over 
him  and  breathes  her  warm,  glowing  breath  through  his  cold 
lips,  to  give  him  of  her  life,  and  bathes  his  cold  brow  with  her 
warm  tears. 

Sitta  Nefysseh's  prayerful,  tearful  entreaties  are  heard. 
Youssouf  Bey  awakens  from  his  death-like  slumber.  Love 
has  recalled  the  spirit  to  the  body.  Love  opens  his  eyes  and 
permits  him  to  see  and  recognize  her  who  is  bowed  over  him, 
regarding  him  with  loving  tenderness. 

"Is  it  you,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ?  Am  I  already  dead,  and  is  it  a 
divine  being  that  looks  at  me  with  your  eyes  ? " 

"  No,  my  Youssouf,  you  live  and  are  with  me  on  earth !  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  impossible — impossible !  Only  a  sweet  illusion,1' 
whispers  he,  with  quivering  lips  ;  his  eyes  close,  and  he  falls 
back  heavily. 

But  she  bends  over  him,  strokes  his  brow  and  cheek  with 
gentle  touch,  and  calls  him  loving  names. 

"You  live,"  murmurs  she,  "oh,  feel  that  you  live,  dear 
Youssouf.  Feel  it  in  this  kiss  ! " 

A  soft  tremor  courses  through  his  entire  being,  and  his 
eyes  open. 

Yes,  he  lives !  He  is  not  dead !  This  is  Nefysseh's  victory 
over  death,  this  is  the  result  of  the  impassioned  kiss  impressed 
on  the  lips  of  her  beloved. 

"And  is  it  possible,  Nefysseh,  you  are  indeed  with  me, 
and  my  dreams  of  love  and  bliss  are  realized?  You  with 


432  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

me  !  What  can  have  happened  ?  Why  this  wondrous 
change  ? " 

He  raises  his  hand  to  his  forehead  and  touches  the  wound, 
and  then  he  knows  what  has  taken  place  ;  he  feels  it  in  the 
burning  pain  of  his  wound. 

"Oh,  we  are  lost  —  all  lost!  Tell  me,  Nefysseh,  must 
I  die?" 

"  No,  you  shall  not  die  ;  you  shall  live,  Youssouf,  live 
for  me." 

''  For  thee  ?    Oh,  tell  me,  Nefysseh,  do  you,  then,  love  me  ? " 

She  bends  over  him,  clasps  him  in  her  arms,  and  lays  her 
cheek  against  his. 

"  You  ask,  Youssouf  ?  Do  you  not  know  ?  I  have  long 
loved,  perhaps  I  loved  you  even  while  Mourad  still  lived  ! 
But  I  wished  to  know  nothing  of  it,  and  I  knew  nothing  of  it. 
I  refused  to  listen  to  the  voices  that  whispered  in  my  heart. 
And  yet  so  blissful,  so  heavenly,  to  look  at  you,  Youssouf, 
and  read  in  your  eyes  the  secret  of  your  love.  Yet  my  lips 
were  silent,  for,  as  Mourad's  wife,  I  wished  to  remain  unblam- 
able. You  loved  me,  and  I  wished  to  remain  free  from  blame 
for  your  sake,  too." 

The  tears  that  pour  from  her  eyes  fall  upon  his  face — a 
heavenly  dew  that  gives  him  new  strength,  new  happiness. 

"  Speak  on,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  oh,  speak  on !  What  I  hear  is 
music  !  Let  me  hear  this  music  and  be  happy  !  Oh,  speak 
on,  Nefysseh  ! " 

"  What  shall  I  say,  Youssouf  ?  The  whole  meaning  of  my 
words  is  still,  I  love  you,  and  have  long  loved  you  !  When 
Mourad,  my  husband,  died,  I  vowed  over  his  dead  body  that  I 
would  remain  true  to  him  beyond  the  grave.  Do  you  know 
why  I  wished  to  raise  this  barrier  between  us  ?  I  could  not 
allow  the  youth  to  sacrifice  his  life  for  me  in  the  blossom  of 
his  age.  And,  moreover,  oh,  fool  that  I  was,  I  fancied  the 
wide  abyss  that  separated  Mourad  Bey's  widow  from  his 
kachef  Youssouf  could  never  be  crossed  !  I  was  proud,  Yous- 
souf, and  proud  for  you,  also  !  I  did  not  wish  to  give  any 
one  occasion  to  say  :  4  Kachef  Youssouf  marries  Mourad's 
widow  for  her  possessions — for  her  wealth.  She  is  too  old  for 
him  to  love  her.  He  can  only  have  married  her  for  her 


LOVE  UNTO   DEATH.  433 

wealth  and  her  name.'  Thus  they  might  have  spoken  of  the 
youth,  of  the  hero  I  loved  and  adored,  and  for  whom  I  would 
gladly  have  sacrificed  my  life." 

"  And  to  whom  you  were  yet  so  cruel,  Sitta  Nefysseh  ;  to 
whom  you  caused  so  much  suffering  !  For  I  have  suffered, 
Sitta  Nefysseh.  It  was  my  heaven  to  be  in  your  presence,  to 
see  you.  I  adored  you,  and  yet  you  refused  to  listen  to  me. 
But  let  me  be  silent.  Speak  on,  oh,  speak  on  of  my  happi- 
ness !  Tell  me  again  that  you  love  me,  Nefysseh  ;  I  cannot 
believe  it— it  cannot  be  !  " 

"  And  yet  it  is  so,  Youssouf,  and  long  have  I  loved  you. 
You  know  not  of  the  long,  sleepless  nights  I  have  passed  in 
my  solitary  chamber,  my  hands  folded  in  prayer  to  Allah  for 
strength  and  firmness.  You  know  not  how  often,  in  the.  still 
night,  I  have  stretched  out  my  arms  toward  you,  and  pro- 
nounced your  name  with  passionate  longing,  entreating  the 
welis  to  bear  you  to  me  in  their  gentle  arms.  Yet,  with  the 
day  came  cold,  calm  reason,  exhorting  Mourad's  widow  to 
be  farm  and  proud.  And,  alas  !  I  was  firm.  You  knew  not 
what  it  cost  me.  Then,  Youssouf,  a  new  period  came.  The 
beys  Bardissi  and  LTElfi  addressed  me,  covetous  not  only  of 
the  possession  of  the  woman,  but  also  of  her  wealth.  From 
that  hour  I  knew  that  danger  threatened  you,  for  the  Mame- 
luke beys  are  fierce  and  cruel ;  and,  if  they  had  known  of 
my  affection  for  you,  my  beloved,  you  would  have  been  lost. 
This  I  knew,  and  therefore  was  I  cold  and  indifferent  in  my 
manner  to  you.  You  called  me  unfeeling  and  cruel  when  I 
sent  you  away  to  battle.  I  was  afraid  it  might  excite  suspi- 
cion if  I  kept  you  back  at  such  a  time  ;  and  then,  too,  I  was 
satisfied  you  would  make  for  yourself  a  name,  which  you 
have  done,  my  beloved.  You  returned.  You  came  with  a 
new  declaration  of  love,  which  Nefysseh  rejected,  because 
Bardissi  had  been  with  her  in  the  self-same  hour,  and  had 
renewed  his  addresses,  and  because  he  would  never  forgive 
you  if  I  chose  you  instead  of  himself.  And  now  this  fearful 
disaster  has  overtaken  us  all  !  Treachery  has  stained  our 
streets  with  blood  !  The  Mameluke  beys  have  left  the  city 
in  wild  flight  !  You,  Youssouf  Bey,  have,  however,  remained 
here,  and  now  I  may  tell  you  all,  avow  all  that  I  feel  and 


434  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

have  endured  and  suffered  in  secret.  I  may  tell  you  that  I 
love  you,  and  Allah  will  be  merciful  and  gracious,  Youssouf. 
We  are  united  in  love.  The  seal  has  fallen  from  my  lips,  and 
they  dare  proclaim  what  I  feel.  Oh,  my  Youssouf,  there  is  a 
bright  future  in  store  for  us  ;  you  will  recover,  and  be  strong 
and  happy  ! " 

"  I  am  already  well,"  murmured  he.  "  All  is  well  with  me, 
Sitta  Nefysseh,  for  you  love  me,  and  in  your  love  I  shall  re- 
gain health  and  strength." 

His  lips  cease  to  speak,  and  a  tremor  courses  through  his 
whole  being. 

"  Youssouf  ! "  cries  she,  in  tones  of  anguish — "  Youssouf  ! 
Oh,  stay  with  me,  do  not  leave  me  1 " 

In  response  to  her  call,  he  opens  his  eyes  and  gives  her  a 
tender  look. 

"  Yes,  Sitta  Nefysseh,  I  shall  remain  with  you  throughout 
all  time,  throughout  eternity,  for  love  is  eternal." 

His  lips  are  hushed,  but  his  eyes  still  gaze  up  at  her,  for  a 
moment,  with  the  lustre  of  life  ;  then  they  grow  dim  and 
cold,  and  slowly  the  veil  of  death  sinks  down  over  his  counte- 
nance. The  lips  that  but  now  spoke  the  words,  "  I  love  you," 
are  hushed  forever  ! 

Bowed  down  over  him,  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  fea- 
tures from  which  the  last  traces  of  life  are  vanishing,  she  sees 
the  kiss  that  Death  has  imprinted  on  his  lips,  and  the  last 
smile  slowly  fade  from  his  countenance. 

And  again  she  neither  weeps  nor  laments  ;  she  only  tears 
the  veil  from  her  head  with  a  wild,  despairing  movement,  and 
lays  it  over  the  countenance  of  her  beloved  dead. 

"  Sleep,  Youssouf,  sleep  beneath  my  veil  !  You  are  dead, 
and  my  happiness  dies  with  you — I  shall  be  a  living  monu- 
ment to  your  memory  !  I  shall  live  in  poverty  and  solitude, 
Youssouf,  and  the  treasures  which  you  buried  for  me  beneath 
the  earth  shall  remain  there,  a  subterranean  monument  to 
my  love.  They  shall  never  see  the  light  of  day!  You  have 
buried  my  treasures,  and  I  will  bury  my  greatest,  holiest  treas- 
ure— you,  Youssouf  Bey ;  and  with  you  Sitta  Nefysseh  buries 
her  youth,  her  love,  and  her  grandeur,  to  be  henceforth  only 
a  poor  widow  who  lives  in  solitary  retirement,  a  prey  to  sor- 


COURSCIIID   PACHA.  435 

row.     Sleep,  Youssouf  Bey !     You  will  awake  with  me  above, 
to  an  eternal  life — sleep,  Youssouf  !  " 

She  lifts  the  veil  once  more,  and  kisses  the  forehead,  now 
cold  as  marble;  she  then  replaces  it  softly,  and  leaves  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

COURSOHID  PACHA. 

A  NEW  viceroy  is  enthroned  in  Cairo,  the  viceroy  Cour- 
schid  Pacha,  and  it  is  again  the  old  story  of  wars,  want  of 
money,  and  oppression  of  the  people. 

Courschid  Pacha  !  What  is  he  but  a  continuation  of  all 
the  other  viceroys,  governors,  and  caimacans  who  have  ruled 
in  Cairo  since  Egypt  has  belonged  to  the  Turkish  empire  ? 
New  taxes,  new  extortion,  and  new  wars.  For  the  Mameluke 
beys  have  assembled  on  the  plain  of  G-heezeh  and  formed  new 
plans,  recruited  their  ranks  with  Arabians  and  Nubians,  and 
prepared  to  take  the  field  against  the  rulers  in  Cairo,  and 
above  all  against  their  most  hated  enemy,  the  pacha  Moham- 
med Ali. 

Such  was  the  dignity  conferred  upon  Mohammed  by  Cour- 
schid Pacha,  upon  his  entrance  into  Cairo,  in  the  name  of  the 
grand-sultan. 

It  is  not  to  war  against  Courschid  Pacha  that  the  Mame- 
lukes are  assembling  their  forces.  To  destroy  Mohammed 
Ali,  the  soldier-king,  the  real  ruler  in  Cairo,  is  their  aim  ;  and, 
in  order  to  accomplish  this,  they  even  humble  themselves  be- 
fore the  viceroy,  who  is  already  involved  in  a  conflict  with 
Mohammed.  They  seek  to  treat  with  him,  and  with  the 
grand-admiral  of  the  Turkish  fleet,  sent  by  the  Sublime  Porte 
to  Alexandria  to  restore  peace  to  the  distracted  country.  To 
him,  the  grand-admiral,  the  Mameluke  beys  address  a  letter 
offering  their  services  : 

"The  undersigned,  knowing  that  your  highness  has  come 
to  Egypt  to  put  an  end  to  the  anarchy  that  prevails,  offer,  in 
the  name  of  all  the  beys,  to  unite  their  forces  with  those  of 


436  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

I 

Courschid  Pacha,  and  to  assist  him  and  your  highness  in  all 
you  may  do  and  undertake,  provided  Mohammed  Ali  and  the 
Albanians  be  driven  from  the  country." 

This  proposition  receives  the  approval  of  Courschid  Pacha, 
who  hates  Mohammed  as  heartily  as  the  Mamelukes  do  !  Mo- 
hammed is  the  people's  idol.  To  him  they  apply  for  relief 
from  oppression,  and,  whenever  there  is  any  thing  to  be  de- 
manded of  the  viceroy,  it  is  Mohammed,  supported  by  the 
cadis  and  sheiks,  who  loudly  demands  that  right  and  justice 
be  done.  Merely  this  :  "  Right  and  justice  ! "  But  this  it  is 
that  Courschid  cannot  accord  them.  He  cannot  accord  right 
and  justice,  he  who  is  always  in  want  and  danger,  he  who  is 
suffering  with  the  disease  that  has  so  long  cursed  the  viceroys 
of  Egypt — want  of  money.  When  money  is  needed,  it  must 
be  had,  even  if  extorted  from  the  inhabitants  of  Cairo  and 
its  vicinity.  And  Mohammed  often  interposes  and  prevents 
Courschid  from  executing  his  money-raising  schemes. 

Courschid  Pacha,  incensed  by  this  interference,  complains 
to  the  sultan  at  Stamboul,  and  requests  that  the  sarechsme, 
Mohammed  Ali,  be  relieved  from  duty  at  Cairo,  and  assigned 
to  duty  elsewhere.  At  the  same  time,  in  order  to  make  him- 
self independent  of  the  Albanians,  who  are  wholly  under  the 
influence  of  Mohammed  Ali,  he  causes  a  body  of  troops  to  be 
brought  to  Cairo  for  himself,  a  body  of  Delis,  wild,  lawless 
troops,  who  carry  terror  and  dismay  wherever  they  go. 
These  Delis  are  now  seen  in  Egypt  for  the  first  time  ;  the 
viceroy  treats  them  tenderly,  and  Courschid,  who  has  money 
for  no  one  else,  has  money  for  his  Delis  ;  and  when  he  has 
none,  he  delivers  over  to  their  mercy  some  village  in  the 
vicinity  of  Cairo,  out  of  which  they  pay  themselves  by  pillage. 

At  last  a  day  came  when  the  people,  so  long  bowed  down 
in  the  dust,  arose  like  a  lion,  and  refused  to  yield  longer  to 
such  oppression. 

"  We  will  endure  this  no  more  ;  we  will  submit  to  this  in- 
justice and  oppression  no  longer  ! " 

The  cadis  and  sheiks  repair  to  the  citadel  to  announce  the 
determination  of  the  people  to  the  viceroy. 

"The  people  refuse  to  submit  further  to  this  oppression. 
Neither  they  nor  we  will  endure  it." 


COURSCHID   PACHA.  437 

They  say  this  to  his  face,  proudly,  fearlessly.  He  replies 
fiercely  :  "  I  will  hurl  death  into  your  midst  if  the  people  are 
not  brought  back  to  humility  and  obedience,  for  I  am  your 
master — I  alone  1 " 

"  You  are  our  master  while  we  recognize  you  as  such,  and 
no  longer,"  replied  the  cadi,  turning  and  leaving  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  the  sheiks. 

In  the  streets  below  he  announces  to  the  people :  "  Justice 
is  not  to  be  obtained  of  Courschid  Pacha,  and  we  will  submit 
to  him  no  more !  " 

"  No,  we  can  and  will  not  submit,"  say  the  cadi  and  sheiks, 
who,  accompanied  by  thousands  of  the  people,  have  repaired  to 
the  palace  of  the  sarechsme. 

"  We  announce  to  you,  Mohammed  Ali,  in  the  name  of  the 
whole  people,  we  will  recognize  and  obey  Courschid  Pacha  no 
longer.  This  man's  cruelty  and  injustice  are  no  longer  to  be 
endured." 

"  We  declare  him  removed  from  his  office ;  we  declare  him 
deposed  from  the  throne,"  cried  the  cadi,  solemnly ;  and  the 
sheiks  repeat  the  cry:  "  We  declare  him  removed  from  his  of- 
fice ;  we  declare  him  deposed  from  the  throne !  " 

And  in  the  streets  without,  the  people  shout  exultingly : 
"  We  declare  him  deposed  from  the  throne  !  " 

Mohammed  listens  to  these  unusual  outcries,  and  his  coun- 
tenance is  grave  and  solemn. 

"  You  depose  him  from  the  throne,  O  cadi !  But  whom  will 
you  put  in  his  place  ? " 

He  asks  the  question  slowly  and  quietly,  and  no  one  knows 
how  wildly  his  heart  throbs  within  him.  He  is  aware  that 
the  crisis  is  at  hand,  and  that  what  he  has  dreamed  of  since 
his  boyhood,  and  worked  and  toiled  for  during  four  long 
years,  is  now  about  to  be  decided.  "  Whom  will  you  put  in 
his  place  ? " 

"  Yourself,  Mohammed  Ali ! "  cried  the  cadi,  solemnly. 
"  Yes ;  you  must  rule  in  Courschid  Pacha's  stead,  for  we  are 
convinced  that  your  aim  will  be  the  welfare  of  the  people." 

"  Me !  "  said  Mohammed  Ali,  recoiling  a  step  as  if  startled, 
and  the  pallor  which  overspread  his  face  could  have  been 
caused  by  alarm  as  well  as  by  joy. 


438  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

"  No,  it  is  impossible,  you  cannot  select  me  ;  I  am  not 
worthy  of  so  great  an  honor." 

"  You  are  worthy  of  this  honor,  and  the  people  invest  you 
with  it  through  me,"  cried  the  cadi.  "  Come,  Mohammed  AH, 
Caimacan  of  Cairo,  our  governor  and  master !  I  proclaim  you 
to  be  such,  in  the  name  of  the  people." 

While  Mohammed  silently  shakes  his  head,  the  cadi  hastily 
throws  open  the  wide  doors  that  lead  out  upon  the  balcony  of 
the  house,  steps  out  and  proclaims,  in  such  loud  tones  that  the 
assembled  thousands  who  fill  the  spacious  square  can  hear 
him: 

"  Courschid  Pacha  is  deposed,  and  we  elect  Mohammed  AH 
Pacha  to  be  our  governor !  Is  this  your  will  ? " 

u  It  is  our  will  !  "  shout  the  populace,  exultingly.  "  Cour- 
schid is  deposed,  and  Mohammed  AH  is  our  governor  !  Long 
live  Mohammed  AH  !  " 

His  head  bowed  down  on  his  breast,  Mohammed  stands  lis- 
tening to  the  grateful  words :  "  Long  live  Mohammed  AH  ! " 

The  cadi  re-enters  the  apartment.  ''  You  have  heard  their 
voice !  Now  show  yourself  to  the  people.  They  have  chosen 
you.  Step  out  upon  the  balcony  with  us,  that  they  may  salute 
you." 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  say,"  said  he,  after  a  pause.  "  The  peo- 
ple call  me,  and  I  will  greet  them.  May  Allah  assist  me  in 
advancing  their  welfare !  " 

The  cadi  takes  his  hand  and  leads  him  out.  Without,  the 
assembled  thousands  shout  exultingly:  ''Long  live  our  new 
governor!  Our  caimacan!  Our  viceroy!  Long  live  Mo- 
hammed AH  Pacha! " 

These  strains  resound  so  loudly  through  the  city,  that  they 
reach  the  citadel.  Everywhere  in  the  streets  exulting  voices 
cry:  "  Courschid  Pacha  is  deposed,  and  Mohammed  AH  is  our 
governor ! " 

"  I  am  alone  viceroy  here  in  Cairo,"  is  the  burden  of  a  mis- 
sive penned  by  Courschid  in  the  citadel,  and  sent  down  by 
him  to  the  cadi  and  sheiks.  "  I  alone  am  viceroy.  Upon  me 
the  grand-sultan  at  Stamboul  has  conferred  this  dignity,  and  a 
message  will  soon  come  from  our  master  announcing  to  you 
his  decision  with  regard  to  the  rebel,  Mohammed  AH.  Until 


COURSCIIID  PACHA.  439 

then  I  will  assert  my  authority,  and  I  appeal  to  all  faithful 
subjects,  and  to  all  who  do  not  wish  to  hazard  their  future 
with  the  rebels,  and  to  perish  with  them,  to  rally  to  the  sup- 
port of  their  lawful  ruler."  . 

And  large  numbers  did  so,  many  fearing,  no  doubt,  the  de- 
cision expected  from  Stamboul. 

But  Mohammed  was  undaunted,  and  besieged  the  citadel  of 
Cairo  with  his  faithful  Albanians. 

The  bloody  struggle  arose  between  the  besiegers  and  the  be- 
sieged. The  cannon  thundered  death  and  destruction  into  the 
city,  and,  when  vigorous  sorties  occurred,  the  conflict  some- 
times surged  far  down  into  the  streets.  But  finally,  after  four 
days  of  fierce  fighting,  the  expected  message  arrived  from 
Stamboul,  and  an  unexpected  one  it  proved  to  be,  to  the  vice- 
roy, Courschid  Pacha. 

The  grand-vizier  had  sent  one  of  his  confidants  with  the 
capidgi  bashi,  with  instructions  to  investigate,  and  make  him- 
self thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  state  of  things,  and  learn 
who  was  right,  and  who  wrong;  and  the  capidgi,  and  his  as- 
sociate, had  done  so;  and  now,  upon  their  arrival  in  Cairo, 
they  summoned  the  cadi  and  sheiks,  and  announced  to  them, 
and  to  Mohammed  Ali,  the  firman  of  the  grand-sultan :  "  Mo- 
hammed Ali  is  confirmed  in  his  office  of  Governor  of  Cairo 
and  Viceroy  of  Egypt;  and  the  deposed  viceroy,  Courschid 
Pacha,  is  ordered  to  repair  to  Alexandria,  there  to  await  the 
further  orders  of  his  master." 

A  copy  of  this  firman  is  sent  up  to  the  citadel,  and  Cour- 
schid commanded  to  surrender  the  fortress,  and  leave  the  city 
immediately.  He  at  first  declined  to  surrender,  and  demanded 
an  interview  with  the  capidgi  bashi  and  his  associate.  This 
was,  however,  refused  him,  and  he  was  at  last  compelled  to 
yield,  and  give  up  the  citadel.  Through  the  little  side-gate 
that  leads  down  to  the  Nile,  Courschid,  accompanied  by  a  few 
faithful  followers,  left  the  citadel,  and  was  conveyed  in  boats, 
that  lay  in  readiness,  down  the  river  to  Boulak.  From  there, 
after  a  brief  sojourn,  he  continued  his  journey  to  Alexandria, 
and  then  on  to  Stamboul. 

While  Courschid  is  descending  the  secret  stairway  to  leave 
the  citadel,  Mohammed  Ali  and  his  warriors  are  ascending  the 


440  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

hill  in  triumph,  marching  to  the  strains  of  stirring  military 
music.  The  garrison  of  the  fortress  lay  down  their  arms,  and 
all  cry,  exultingly :  "  Long  live  Mohammed  Ali,  our  new  vice- 
roy!" He  still  hears  it  as  he  enters  the  grand  apartment 
where  Courschid  has  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving  him.  He 
still  hears  it  as  he  steps  out  upon  the  wall  of  the  fortress,  and 
looks  down  upon  the  wondrous  city,  at  the  Nile,  at  the  palm- 
trees  on  the  green  shore  beyond,  and  at  the  yellow  desert,  on 
whose  verge  the  pyramids  tower  aloft. 

"  Long  live  our  new  viceroy,  Mohammed  Ali !  " 

This  cry  resounds  from  a  thousand  voices,  and  Mohammed 
gazes  out  upon  the  beautiful,  heavenly  world  that  is  now  his 
own,  and  an  ecstasy  that  almost  makes  his  heart  stand  still, 
possesses  his  soul. 

"  Long  live  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt !  " 

"  I  have  reached  my  goal.  I  am  the  viceroy.  They  greet 
me  with  shouts  of  joy,  and  wish  me  a  long  life.  I  will  en- 
deavor to  reward  them.  Poor,  bleeding  Egypt,  shall  progress 
under  my  rule.  I  will  endeavor  to  bring  prosperity  and  happi- 
ness to  those  who  have  suffered  so  much.  This  I  swear,  by 
Allah!  I  will  raise  this  poor  land  up  out  of  the  dust.  Yes,  I 
swear  it,  by  Allah !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  TENT. 

PEACE  and  tranquillity  prevail  at  last. — For  the  present,  at 
least,  the  people  enjoy  blessings  to  which  they  have  long  been 
strangers,  and  it  is  to  the  new  viceroy  and  his  beneficent  rule 
that  they  owe  these  blessings.  He  has  signalized  the  begin- 
ning of  his  rule  by  compelling  the  lawless  horde  of  Delis,  called 
by  Courschid  his  body-guard,  to  return  to  the  interior  of  Africa. 
He  has  also  brought  back  into  subjection  the  Armenians  and 
Albanians,  who,  carried  away  by  the  war-fury,  had,  for  a 
period,  laughed  at  all  order  and  discipline.  Though  mild  and 
gentle  toward  the  devoted  and  obedient,  Mohammed  is  severe 
and  cruel  to  the  disobedient  and  defiant. 


THE   TENT.  44! 

Many  heads  have  fallen  in  these  first  days  of  his  rule.  The 
head  of  many  a  wild  soldier,  who  paid  for  his  mutinous  or  riot- 
ous "behavior  with  his  life,  adorns  the  wall  of  the  citadel,  a 
warning  to  the  enemies  of  law  and  order. 

This  warning  is  not  lost  on  the  other  soldiers,  and  on  the 
secret  adherents  of  the  Mamelukes ;  it  teaches  them  to  conform 
to  circumstances  and  bow  their  heads  in  submission.  The 
Mamelukes  themselves  are  far  distant  from  Cairo,  and  lie  en- 
camped near  Minieh,  equipping  and  disciplining  their  forces, 
and  preparing  to  renew  the  struggle. 

The  viceroy,  however,  has  a  strong  arm,  and  his  power  in- 
creases daily.  He  will  bring  them  also  into  submission. 

The  people  who  pass  the  palace  occupied  by  Mohammed  as 
sarechsme,  stand  still,  and  gaze  with  curiosity  at  the  changes 
and  alterations  being  made  there.  Large  numbers  of  laborers 
are  engaged  in  repairing  the  injuries  sustained  by  the  building 
in  the  recent  conflicts ;  in  setting  out  trees  and  shrubbery  in 
the  garden,  and  in  adorning  it  with  rare  flowers.  Great  im- 
provements are  progressing  in  the  wing  of  the  building  whose 
windows  open  on  the  garden. 

Artistically  carved  lattice-work  and  shutters  are  being 
affixed  to  the  lofty  windows  of  the  second  story.  And  the 
curious,  who  observe  this,  give  each  other  a  sly  look,  and 
smile.  They  understand  the  significance  of  these  shutters. 
These  are  the  shutters  of  the  windows  of  a  harem,  and  they 
proclaim  that  Mohammed  is  now  also  occupied  with  other 
than  affairs  of  state.  The  people  rejoice  in  these  harem  win- 
dows, for  they  are  a  guarantee  of  peace.  When  the  warrior 
builds  a  harem,  it  proves  that  he  himself  believes  in  the  sta- 
bility of  peace,  and  the  new  order  of  things.  And  the  new 
viceroy  does. 

In  discussing  these  matters,  the  people  who  stand  in  front 
of  the  palace  of  the  Esbekieh  tell  each  other  that  the  viceroy 
has  sent  a  messenger  to  his  distant  home  beyond  the  sea, 
where  his  first  wife  and  children  live,  and  has  sent  them  word 
to  come  to  him.  "They  will  come  by  water  !"  relates  one  of 
them,  "  and  that  is  why  the  dehabieh  is  being  built  at  Boulak. 
It  is  like  a  magnificent  saloon,  and  is  to  be  beautifully  adorned 
— the  walls  hung  with  velvet,  and  the  floor  covered  with 
29 


442  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

costly  Persian  carpets.  The  viceroy's  first  wife  and  his  chil- 
dren will  come  up  from  Alexandria  in  this  dehabieh." 

"  His  first  wife  ? ''  exclaims  another.  "  You  speak  of  his 
first.  Has  he  then  other  wives  ? " 

The  person  addressed  then  assumes  a  mysterious  air,  as  if 
to  intimate  that  he  is  in  the  viceroy's  confidence,  and  quite 
accurately  informed  as  to  the  number  of  his  wives.  "  It  is  not 
known,"  says  he,  hesitatingly;  "it  is,  however,  well  known 
that  a  harem  has  been  constructed  at  the  citadel,  and  that  here 
also  the  apartments  in  the  wing  of  the  palace  are  to  be  ar- 
ranged as  a  harem." 

"One  wife  hardly  requires  two  harems,  I  should  fancy  I" 
they  all  laughingly  repeat;  "by  Allah,  one  wife  has  no  need 
of  two  harems,  and  the  viceroy  must  therefore  have,  as  the 
prophet  allows,  more  than  one  wife." 

But  no  one  knows  it;  and  Mohammed  takes  care  to  be 
silent  concerning  his  private  life.  He  is  reticent  in  such  mat- 
ters, and  only  talkative  when  in  conference  with  his  ministers 
and  government  officials,  and  most  so  when  conversing  with 
Hassan,  his  minister  of  finance,  on  which  occasions  he  is  often 
compelled  to  hear  that  the  treasury  is  unfortunately  almost 
empty,  and  that  new  means  of  replenishing  it  must  be  devised. 

Money  is  scarce,  but  none  is  spared  in  decorating  the  apart- 
ments at  the  citadel,  and  below  in  the  palace  of  the  Esbekieh. 

The  apartments  in  the  citadel  destined  to  be  the  harem  of 
the  viceroy's  wife,  as  well  as  the  other  apartments  of  the 
palace,  are  being  splendidly  furnished. 

The  upper  apartments,  now  that  they  are  completed,  the 
viceroy  inspects  alone;  through  the  others  he  walks  beside 
his  faithful  friend  Hassan,  pointing  out  with  complacency  the 
beauties  of  the  long  suite  of  elegantly-furnished  apartments. 

"  And  do  you  know  who  is  to  occupy  these  rooms,  Hassan  ? " 
asked  Mohammed,  his  countenance  assuming  a  more  mild  and 
kindly  expression  than  Hassan  had  ever  before  observed  in 
the  usually  stern  and  severe  features  of  his  master. 

"  It  is  said  the  viceroy  has  sent  for  his  sons,"  replied  Has- 
san, "  and  I  therefore  suppose  that  they  are  to  live  here." 

"And  your  supposition  is  right,  my  friend,"  replied  the 
viceroy,  smiling.  "  Yes,  here  my  dear  sons  will  live,  my  three 


THE   TENT.  44.3 

boys.  Yet  they  must  be  almost  young  men  by  this  time.  Let 
me  see,  five  years  have  passed  since  I  saw  them.  They  must 
have  changed  very  much  in  this  time,  Hassan,  and  I  confess 
my  heart  yearns  for  them.  Do  you  think  they  will  know  me  ? " 

"  You  are  not  changed,  master,"  replied  Hassan.  ''  Just  as 
you  look  now,  you  looked  on  that  day,  you  know,  the  day  at 
Aboukir,  when  I  saw  you  for  the  first  time." 

"  I  know,  we  met  there  for  the  first  time,  and  you  are  the 
only  friend  that  has  stood  beside  me  faithfully  since  that  day. 
The  only  one,  too,  Hassan,  in  whom  I  confide,  and  may  Allah 
grant  that  you  stand  beside  me  through  life  ! " 

"  Yes,  may  Allah  grant  that  my  enemies  may  never  succeed 
in  making  you  distrust  me.  For  this  I  know,  I  shall  remain 
faithful  to  you  until  death;  and  malice  and  calumny  alone 
can  succeed  in  alienating  from  me  my  master's  confidence." 

u  Hassan,"  said  the  viceroy,  looking  at  him  earnestly,  "  I 
do  not  listen  to  calumny,  and,  whatever  I  hear,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve it  unless  I  recognize  it  as  truth.  You  will  be  often  ca- 
lumniated, my  friend ;  that  I  well  know.  But  this  I  promise 
you :  whatever  evil  is  said  of  you  I  will  repeat  to  you,  to  en- 
ahle  you  to  justify  yourself,  and  then  woe  to  those  who  have 
the  temerity  to  calumniate  you  ! " 

The  viceroy  has  shown  the  beautiful  apartments  of  the 
citadel  to  his  friend  Hassan,  but  the  apartments  in  the  palace 
of  the  Esbekieh  he  shows  to  no  one ;  through  them  he  wan- 
ders alone.  The  saloons  and  chambers  are  not  yet  finished ; 
he  carefully  observes  them  as  he  walks  along,  noting  whether 
his  instructions  are  being  complied  with.  Now  he  has  entered 
the  immense  saloon,  situated  at  the  end  of  the  apartments  of 
the  harem.  He  locks  the  door  behind  him ;  here  no  one  must 
see  him ;  to  this  sanctuary  no  human  eye  must  follow  him. 

At  the  entrance  he  stands  still  and  looks  around.  A  won- 
drous change  has  come  over  him.  He  smiles,  and  his  coun- 
tenance is  still  more  radiant  than  when  he  spoke  with  Hassan 
of  his  sons.  His  eyes  sparkle  like  those  of  a  youth  who  be- 
holds again  the  countenance  of  his  beloved. 

The  saloon  is  curiously  furnished.  Nothing  splendid,  noth- 
ing beautiful  is  to  be  seen.  Simple  mats  cover  the  floor,  such 
mats,  woven  of  long  straw  by  the  fellahs,  as  adorn  the  harems 


444  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

of  the  poorer  class  of  people  in  Cairo.  There  are  no  divans, 
but  only  low  cushions  covered  with  plain  woolen  cloth,  no 
costly  hangings,  no  mirrors  on  the  walls ;  they  are  hung  with 
gray  linen,  as  though  they  were  the  sides  of  a  gigantic  tent, 
and  in  the  middle  of  this  immense  space  there  really  stands  a 
tent— a  large  one  made  of  white  cloth,  patched  with  colored 
rags  of  every  description,  such  a  tent  as  the  Bedouin  chiefs  of 
the  desert  dwell  in. 

Any  one  entering  this  immense  space,  after  passing  through 
the  glittering  apartments  of  the  harem,  would  have  been 
strangely  and  mysteriously  affected  by  its  appearance. 

But  Mohammed  is  not  so  affected.  He  steps  in  noiselessly, 
as  if  fearing  to  disturb  the  repose  of  some  one. 

Is  any  one  reposing  there  ? 

Not  yet;  but  the  time,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  soon  come 
when  this  tent  shall  no  longer  be  unoccupied  as  now. 

Mohammed  steps  forward,  draws  back  the  curtain,  and 
enters  the  first  apartment  of  the  tent. 

How  plain  it  is,  how  desolate  and  bare  !  On  the  mat  hi  the 
corner,  however,  lie  cushions,  and  spread  over  them  a  shawl 
adorned  with  tassels,  the  cover  for  the  person  who  is  to  sleep 
there;  there  stands  also  a  stool,  and  on  it  lies  a  tray,  which 
contains  various  articles  of  table-ware,  such  as  dishes,  plates, 
and  pitchers. 

It  all  looks  extremely  plain,  but,  when  viewed  more  closely, 
it  is  observed  that,  beneath  this  simplicity,  splendor  is  concealed. 
When  the  shawl  is  raised,  it  is  discovered  that  the  other  side 
is  of  heavy  crimson  velvet,  in  worked  with  gold,  and  bordered 
with  pearls.  When  the  tray  that  lies  on  the  stool  is  examined, 
it  is  found  to  be  of  solid  silver,  and  of  great  value,  though  un- 
polished and  rough;  and  the  cups,  dishes,  and  other  articles, 
prove  to  be  of  richly-worked  gold,  set  with  precious  stones, 
and  placed  as  if  in  jest  in  plain,  wooden  forms.  Mohammed 
examines  all  these  things  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction,  and 
murmurs  to  himself  :  "  Yes,  yes,  it  was  just  so.  The  first 
apartment  presented  just  this  appearance." 

He  now  draws  back  the  curtain  that  opens  into  the  second 
apartment,  and  it  seems  to  him  he  hears  now  as  then  a  sweet 
voice  say:  "The  second  apartment  is  for  the  women,  and  no 


THE  TENT.  445 

man  is  ever  allowed  to  enter  it.  I  will  conduct  you  into  that 
apartment,  and  there  I  beg  you  to  remain." 

The  second  apartment,  where  Butheita  lived,  was  just  like 
this.  There  lay  the  cushions  on  which  her  lovely  form  re- 
posed at  night.  Just  so  was  the  woollen  cover  with  its  white 
and  brown  stripes,  and  like  these  were  the  little  red  shoes 
that  stood  beside  her  couch  there.  Only  those  were  of  leather 
and  these  were  of  red  velvet,  and  sparkled  with  precious 
stones.  When  raised,  it  was  found  that  the  other  side  of  this 
woollen  cover,  like  that  in  the  other  apartment,  was  also  of 
splendid  material,  richly  worked  and  adorned  with  gems. 
There  was  nothing  else  here  but  a  small  chest  that  stood  in  a 
remote  corner,  as  in  Butheita's  tent.  In  that  she  kept  the  lit- 
tle ornaments,  purchased  for  her  in  Tantah  by  her  father, 
articles  of  jewelry  found  in  the  sand  of  the  desert,  and  which 
had  perhaps  been  worn  by  a  daughter  of  the  Pharaohs,  and  gems 
that  had  been  taken  from  the  grave  of  some  mummy,  where 
they  had  lain  for  thousands  of  years.  Outwardly  the  chest 
that  stood  in  the  corner  looked  like  the  other,  but  it  contained 
treasures  of  a  different  nature  ;  a  costly  necklace  of  pearls, 
buckles  of  enormous  value,  and  a  diadem,  so  lustrous  that  it 
seemed  as  though  Mohammed  had  stolen  stars  from  heaven 
with  which  to  adorn  his  love. 

As  he  stands  there  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  these 
articles,  a  feeling  of  unutterable  bliss  comes  over  him,  of 
happiness  unknown  to  him  for  many  long  years. 

Yes,  unknown  to  him  for  long  years,  for  very  many  have 
elapsed  since  Masa  died.  Since  the  time  when  he  prepared 
the  subterranean  grotto  for  Masa,  he  has  never  until  now 
experienced  such  ecstasy.  He  steps  out,  closes  the  cur- 
tains, and  surveys  every  thing  once  more,  and  smiles  his 
approval. 

"  Now  I  go  for  your  mistress,"  murmured  he,  as  he  turns 
and  walks  toward  the  door.  But  at  the  door  he  suddenly 
stands  still.  He  feels  that  this  is  not  the  countenance  of  the 
viceroy,  of  a  ruler,  but  that  of  a  happy  man.  Such  a  counte- 
nance he  must,  however,  not  exhibit  to  the  world  ;  no  one 
must  see  that  the  ruler,  perplexed  and  weighed  down  with  the 
cares  of  state,  can  sometimes  forget  that  he  is  a  ruler,  and  be- 


446  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

come  for  a  moment  a  happy  man.  When  he  steps  out  his 
countenance  wears  its  usual  grave  and  severe  expression. 

On  the  evening  of  this  day,  the  viceroy  leaves  the  citadel 
for  a  short  time.  He  wishes  to  repose  for  a  few  days  in  his 
house  on  the  shore  of  the  Nile,  opposite  Boulak,  in  the  house 
he  had  caused  to  be  built  when  he  was  sarechsme,  and  to 
which  he  had  given  the  name  Salam-lyk. 

A  single  servant,  Achmed,  accompanies  the  viceroy  to 
Salam-lyk,  where  he  proposes  to  enjoy  a  little  rest  from  the 
cares  of  state,  as  he  is  in  the  habit  of  doing  from  time  to 
time. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  Salam-lyk,  he  calls  Achmed  to  his 
apartment,  confers  with  him  for  a  long  time,  and  gives  him 
instructions  with  regard  to  something  he  wishes  him  to  do. 
Achmed  leaves  him,  mounts  a  swift  dromedary,  and  rides  out 
into  the  night,  and  Mohammed  retires  to  rest.  But  he  rises 
again  with  the  earliest  dawn,  and  gazes  impatiently  out  of  the 
window,  as  if  expecting  some  one  ;  he  smiles  at  himself  ;  he  is 
as  impatient  as  a  young  girl,  or.  as  a  lover  awaiting  the  coming 
of  his  love. 

But  hour  after  hour  passes,  and  still  he  sees  no  one  com- 
ing up  the  path  that  leads  through  the  garden  to  the  house. 
But  finally,  at  noon.  Achmed  is  seen  approaching 

Mohammed  hastens  out  into  the  garden  to  meet  him. 

"Well,  did  you  find  the  tent  ? " 

"Yes,  master,  the  dromedary  ran  to  it  of  its  own  accord." 

"  And  whom  did  you  meet  at  the  tent  ?  " 

"The  father,  master — the  chief  Arnhyn." 

Mohammed  quickly  averts  his  face — the  servant  must  not 
see  that  his  lips  quiver,  that  he  grows  pale. 

"  You  met  the  chief,  and  he  was  alone  ? " 

"  Yes,  master,  alone  in  his  tent,  and  I  conversed  with 
him." 

"  What  was  said  ?  Did  he  speak  of  his  daughter  ?  Has 
she  followed  another  man  to  his  tent  ?  "  asked  Mohammed,  in 
such  quick,  passionate  tones,  that  Achmed  started  and  failed 
to  understand  his  meaning. 

"No,  master,  he  spoke  to  me  of  his  daughter,  because  I,  as 
you  instructed  me,  asked  about  her,  yet  so  casually,  that  he 


THE  TEXT.  447 

could  not  suspect  that  I  particularly  desired  to  speak  of  lier. 
He  told  me  his  daughter  was  much  changed  ;  she  had  become 
sad  and  delicate,  and  he  had  therefore  sent  her  to  visit  some 
friends  at  Petresin,  in  order  that  she  might  he  thrown  together 
with  other  young  girls  for  a  time,  and  learn  to  laugh  and  jest 
again.  She  had,  however,  sent  her  father  word  yesterday  that 
she  could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  would  return  home  to-day. 
He  stood  at  the  door  awaiting  her,  unwilling  to  leave  his 
tent  to  go  out  to  meet  her,  for  fear  of  the  thieving  Bedouins 
that  roam  the  desert,  and  who  knew  that  his  tent  contained 
costly  treasures."  . 

"  Then  you  suppose  Butheita  will  return  to  her  father's  to- 
day? " 

"  I  remained  there  until  I  saw  her  coming  in  the  distance. 
The  sheik's  eagle-eyes  recognized  her  in  the  dim  distance. 
'  There  comes  my  daughter,  Butheita,  with  her  friends  ! '  he 
cried,  joyously;  'in  an  hour  she  will  be  here.'  I  remained 
some  time  longer,  the  sheik  gradually  becoming  more  and 
more  delighted  as  he  recognized  his  daughter  more  distinctly. 
'Yes,  it  is  Butheita  !'  he  cried  ;  'she  is  returning  home.' 
Then  I  took  my  departure,  master,  to  bring  you  the  intelli- 
gence." 

"  And  how  long,"  asked  Mohammed,  hastily,  his  counte- 
nance averted — "  how  long  do  you  suppose  it  will  take  to 
reach  the  sheik's  tent  ?  " 

(k  I  took,  as  you  instructed  me,  master,  the  dromedary  you 
recently  purchased  from  Sheik  Arnhyn.  It  knew  the  road, 
and  flew  on  its  way  like  the  wind,  without  any  guidance.  I 
think  it  can  be  reached  in  two  hours." 

"  In  two  hours  ! "  repeated  Mohammed.  "  An  hour  after 
sunset,  this  evening,  have  the  dromedary  in  readiness,  and, 
for  yourself,  the  swiftest  horse.  At  that  hour  we  will  de- 
part." 


44:8  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

RETRIBUTION. 

NIGHT  has  come.  The  Bedouin  chief,  Arnhyn,  has  retired 
to  rest.  He  is  to  start  early  in  the  morning  with  others  of  his 
tribe  for  Tantah,  to  take  to  market  the  wool  of  their  black 
sheep,  the  cloth  they  have  woven  out  of  it,  the  goat-skins,  and 
cheese. 

Butheita,  also,  must  rise  early  in  the  morning,  for  she  is 
to  accompany  her  father,  and  has  many  little  preparations 
to  make.  On  the  evening  before,  she  had  already  done  up 
her  hair  in  a  hundred  small  plaits,  securing  them  with  gold- 
headed  pins,  on  some  of  which  precious  stones  sparkled.  The 
pink  silk  dress,  the  white  veil,  and  the  shoes,  all  lie  ready  for 
use.  She  has  colored  her  finger-nails  and  the  palms  of  her 
hands  with  henna ;  but  Butheita  scorns  to  color  her  face  ; 
moreover,  no  one  is  to  see  her  face.  Hitherto  she  had  cor- 
dially detested  her  veil,  but  now  she  hides  her  countenance 
closely  in  the  presence  of  all  men. 

Surprised  at  this,  the  sheik  has  often  asked  her  how  it 
happened  that  such  a  change  had  come  over  her,  and  that 
she  showed  herself  to  no  one  unveiled  since  the  stranger  had 
sojourned  in  their  tent,  as  though  his  eyes  had  hurt  her,  and 
made  her  afraid  of  the  gaze  of  men. 

Butheita  had  only  smiled  mysteriously  in  response  to  his 
questions ;  she  well  knows,  however,  why  she  does  so  :  she 
knows  it  is  to  keep  sacred  from  the  gaze  of  other  men  the 
countenance  consecrated  by  his  glance. 

Night  has  come.  The  sheik  is  sleeping  soundly  on  his 
mat  in  the  first  apartment  of  the  tent,  and  Butheita  on  her 
cushions  in  the  inner  apartment.  Deep  silence  prevails, 
interrupted  only  from  time  to  time  by  the  desert-wind  as  it 
sweeps  across  the  plain  and  shakes  the  stakes  of  the  tent,  and 
makes  the  white  canvas  swell  out. 

Surely  it  was  only  the  wind  that  now  raised  the  curtain 
and  made  the  canvas  rustle.  But  it  does  not  awaken  the 
sheik  ;  he  is  accustomed  to  such  sounds,  and  sleeps  so  quietly 


RETRIBUTION.  449 

that  he  does  not  see  the  shadow  that  glides  cautiously  into 
the  tent,  and  creeps  to  where  he  lies  sleeping.  Without, 
stands  another  man,  holding  up  the  curtain  to  enable  the  first 
to  see  his  way. 

The  moon  throws  a  ray  of  light  into  the  tent,  and  with  a 
quick  bound  the  man  is  beside  the  sheik,  and  binds  his  hands 
and  feet.  The  sheik  is  now  aroused  ;  he  opens  his  lips  to 
utter  a  cry,  but  a  wooden  gag  is  thrust  into  his  mouth.  He 
can  neither  cry  out  nor  move  ;  he  lies  there  perfectly  helpless, 
looking  up  wrathfully  at  the  enemy  who  is  treating  him  so 
shamefully. 

The  robber's  face  is  masked,  and  he  can  not  recognize  him. 
But  a  robber  he  assuredly  is  ;  yes,  a  robber  who  is  searching 
for  treasure,  and  who  well  knows  that  the  sheik  possesses 
several  little  chests  filled  with  gold-pieces,  jewelry,  and  pre- 
cious stones,  and  who  also  knows  that  they  are  kept  within  in 
Butheita's  apartment.  Yes,  the  robber  knows  this,  for  he  is 
cautiously  creeping  into  the  second  apartment.  But  this  is 
not  the  one  who  bound  him  ;  it  is  another.  There  are  therefore 
more  of  them.  The  first,  the  tall  man  who  bound  him,  is  now 
waiting  at  the  door  of  the  tent ;  the  other,  the  smaller  one,  is 
entering  the  inner  apartment.  The  sheik,  powerless  to  pre- 
vent, sees  all  this  as  he  lies  bound  on  his  mat. 

Butheita  still  sleeps  soundly.  He  who  glides  to  her  side  re- 
gards her  for  a  moment  with  an  ardent,  passionate  glance,  and 
then  bends  down  and  quickly  binds  her  feet,  and  her  hands, 
that  lie  crossed  on  her  breast,  with  silken  cloths.  As  she 
awakens  and  attempts  to  cry  out,  he  quickly  throws  a  gold- 
embroidered  cuffei  over  her  head,  ties  it  securely  around  her 
neck,  and  then  lifts  Butheita  in  his  arms.  But,  as  he  does  so, 
he  whispers  in  her  ear,  "  Fear  nothing,  Butheita,  no  harm  will 
be  done  you  !  " 

A  sudden  tremor  seizes  her  ;  she  thinks  she  recognizes  this 
voice.  But  no,  it  is  impossible.  He  would  not  come  to  her  as 
a  robber.  No,  she  is  mistaken.  Yet  she  offers  no  resistance. 
And  what  resistance  can  she  offer  ?  Her  hands  and  feet  are 
bound,  and  now  she  is  borne  out,  and  lifted  high,  and  then 
laid  down. 

She  does  not  see  that  she  is  on  her  own  dromedary.     She 


450  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

lies  on  the  same  cushion  in  the  same  palanquin  in  which  she 
had  once  held  the  sarechsme  Mohammed  Ali  a  prisoner,  and 
he  it  is  who  seats  himself  beside  her.  "  And  now  onward,  on- 
ward, my  Alpha  ! " 

The  Nubian  mounts  his  horse,  and  the  swift  dromedary 
speeds  his  way  through  the  desert. 

The  night  is  clear,  and  the  moon  is  shedding  a  golden  lus- 
tre over  the  sand,  through  which  the  ship  of  the  desert  is  fly- 
ing with  its  rich  prize,  and  behind  it  the  Nubian,  his  hand  on 
his  pistol,  ready  to  shoot  down  any  one  who  may  dare  to  at- 
tack his  master. 

Now  the  rider  draws  rein  and  stops  the  dromedary  ;  the 
sublime  image  of  the  desert-queen,  silvered  over  with  the 
moonlight,  towers  before  them  in  majestic  proportions. 

"  This  is  the  desert-queen,  the  goddess  of  all  the  Bedouins  ! " 
cries  Mohammed.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see  her,  Butheita  ?  I  am 
sorry  for  you,  and  would  gladly  remove  the  cloth  from  your 
head  and  eyes  in  order  that  you  may  see.  But  if  you  are 
cruel,  you  might  tear  my  arms  with  your  teeth.  Will  you  do 
that,  Butheita  ? " 

She  starts  and  shakes  her  head,  inwardly  rejoicing,  for  she 
recognizes  these  words,  and  remembers  that  she  spoke  them 
when  he  lay  a  prisoner  on  the  cushion  before  her.  And  he 
now  continues  to  speak  just  as  she  spoke  then  : 

"  You  shake  your  head,  and  I  will  trust  you  and  loosen 
your  bonds." 

He  quickly  unties  the  cuffei  and  removes  it  from  her  head. 
She  looks  up  at  him  who  is  bowed  down  over  her,  and  the 
kind  moon  sheds  her  soft  light  upon  them,  and  enables  them 
to  see  each  other. 

Oh,  happy  moment !  Forgotten  is  all,  forgotten  the  long 
separation— forgotten,  also,  that  her  father  will  be  angry  and 
will  grieve  for  her  I  She  looks  only  at  him,  sees  only  him, 
and  yet,  as  he  now  bends  down  closer,  she  turns  her  face 
aside. 

Mohammed  smiles  and  points  to  the  sphinx.  "  Only  look 
at  the  shadow  the  moon  throws  from  the  dromedary  to  the 
mouth  of  the  sphinx  !  Look  at  the  two  heads  there,  they  are 
our  shadows,  and  they  are  kissing  each  other,  Butheita  ! " 


RETRIBUTION.  451 

She  utters  a  cry  of  delight.  These  were  her  very  words, 
and,  as  then,  he  says,  bending  over  her  : 

"  Why  should  our  shadows  only  kiss  each  other  ?  Why 
not  our  lips,  too  ?  " 

But  she  shakes  her  head  and  says,  as  she  then  said  : 

"  I  have  promised  my  father  to  kiss  only  that  man  whom  I 
shall  follow  to  his  tent  for  love.  At  the  door  of  the  tent  he 
may  give  me  the  first  kiss." 

"  And  you  are  still  resolved  to  keep  this  promise  ? "  said  he, 
smiling. 

"  I  am,"  says  she,  also  smiling.  "  And  you,  Mohammed, 
shall  never  kiss  me  ! "  she  continues,  the  smile  vanishing  from 
her  lips,  and  her  countenance  assuming  an  angry  expression. 
"  No,  you  shall  never  kiss  me,  for  you  shall  never  lead  me  to 
your  tent  as  your  wife  !  Oh,  I  see  it  all  plainly.  You  have 
stolen  me  from  my  father  to  make  me  a  slave  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mohammed,  "  I  intend  you  to  be  a  slave,  the 
slave  of  your  love  !  For  I  know  you  love  me,  Butheita  ! " 

"  No  ! "  she  exclaims.  "  No,  I  do  not  love  you  !  And  you 
have  no  right  to  make  me  a  slave.  I  am  the  Bedouin  queen  ; 
my  whole  tribe  call  me  so,  and  the  daughters  of  the  Bedouins 
have  never  been  sold  into  slavery.  No,  1  will  not  be  a  slave  ! " 

"  And  yet  you  shall  be  the  slave  of  your  love  I " 

u  I  do  not  love  you,  I  hate  you  ! "  replies  she,  crying  with 
anger.  "  Yes,  Mohammed  Ali,  I  hate  you,  and  you  shall 
never  kiss  me,  for  I  hate  the  robber  who  takes  me  from  my 
father's  house  in  order  to  make  me  a  slave  !  " 

"Butheita,"  says  he,  gently,  "I  removed  the  cloth  from 
your  lips,  but  you  are  not  keeping  your  word  ;  you  tear  my 
heart  with  your  lips,  and  I  must  cover  them  again  if  you  con- 
tinue to  wound  me  so  cruelly." 

"  Do  so  ;  close  my  lips  !  They  shall  say  nothing  else  to 
you  ! "  cries  she,  angrily.  f  "  Do  so,  close  my  lips  and  eyes 
again  ! " 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  do  so,"  he  says,  taking  the  gold-em- 
broidered cloth  and  throwing  it  over  her  face.  "  I  do  so,  Bu- 
theita, because  I  am  not  willing  the  rude  wind  should  kiss  the 
cheek  of  my  beloved  ;  unwilling  the  stars  should  gaze  down 
on  you  in  your  loveliness,  unwilling  the  moon  should  adorn 


452  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS  HOUSE. 

your  countenance  with  its  lustre.  I,  alone,  will  adorn  you  •,  I, 
alone,  will  gaze  on  your  loveliness  ;  and  my  sighs,  alone,  shall 
kiss  your  cheeks  !  Yes,  Butheita,  you  belong  to  me  alone, 
and  shall  be  my  slave,  as  I  am  your  slave,  and  yet  your  mas- 
ter. Shake  your  head  if  you  will.  I  am  your  master,  for  you 
love  me.  You  shake  your  head  again  ?  You  mean  to  say 
you  hate  me  !  I  don't  believe  it. — Onward,  my  dromedary, 
speed  through  the  desert !  Onward,  my  Alpha  ! " 

The  dromedary  moves  on  still  more  rapidly  over  the 
desert ;  its  shadow  dances  beside  them  on  the  sand,  and  behind 
them  the  shadow  of  the  Nubian's  steed. 

The  moon  grows  pale,  the  stars  vanish  ;  day  is  beginning 
to  dawn.  As  the  sun  rises,  they  reach  their  destination. 

The  dromedary  stops  at  the  little  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
park.  Achmed  dismounts,  and  opens  the  gate.  Mohammed 
has  lifted  Butheita  from  the  palanquin,  and  now  carries  his 
precious  burden  into  the  park. 

All  are  asleep  in  the  palace.  The  two  glide  softly  through 
the  park  to  the  door  of  the  harem.  Achmed  unlocks  it,  and 
Mohammed  ascends  the  ^tairway  with  noiseless  footsteps.  No 
one  hears  or  sees  him.  Achmed  hastens  back  to  care  for  the 
horse  and  the  dromedary.  Mohammed  carries  the  precious  bur- 
den, that  lies  quietly  in  his  arms,  through  the  suite  of  glitter- 
ing apartments.  Butheita  sees  nothing  of  the  splendor 
through  which  they  pass,  and,  if  she  saw  it,  would  not 
heed  it. 

What  cares  she  for  gilded  rooms  ?  the  desert  puts  on  more 
glorious  attire  with  each  day's  dawn,  and  nothing  can  be  more 
sublime  than  the  sphinx  near  the  great  pyramids.  He  who 
has  seen  that  is  astonished  at  nothing  else  ;  to  him  all  things 
in  the  houses  of  men  seem  petty. 

Mohammed  is  aware  of  this,  and  he  understands  the  heart 
of  the  girl  he  bears  in  his  arms  ;  he  now  enters  the  large  room 
at  the  end  of  the  apartments  of  the  harem.  Here  he  gently 
lays  her  down,  and  locks  the  door.  The  sun  has  risen  and 
gilds  with  its  light  the  lattice-work  of  the  windows,  throwing 
little  crimson  circles  on  the  mat  that  covers  the  floor.  Mo- 
hammed unties  the  silken  scarf  that  binds  Butheita's  feet,  and 
assists  her  to  stand  up. 


CONCLUSION.  453 

u  Arise,  Butheita,  for  you  are  about  to  enter  into  a  new  life. 
Arise  ! " 

He  also  unties  the  scarf  that  binds  her  hands,  and  she  now 
stands  before  him  with  her  face  veiled.  He  gently  removes 
the  cuff ei  from  her  head.  Her  large  black  eyes  glance  around 
the  wide  space,  and  she  sees  the  tent  that  looks  exactly  like 
her  father's.  She  turns  her  eyes  on  Mohammed  with  a  loving 
glance.  He  draws  her  to  his  heart. 

"  Are  you  still  resolved,  Butheita,  that  he  only  shall  kiss 
you  who  leads  you  to  his  tent  as  his  wife.  And  will  you  only 
allow  him  to  kiss  you  at  the  door  of  the  tent  ?  " 

"  I  am  still  so  resolved  ! "  she  exclaims,  but  in  joyous  tones. 
"  I  am  still  so  resolved  I " 

Mohammed  lifts  her  in  his  arms  and  carries  her  to  the  tent. 

"  Butheita,  this  is  my  tent !  I  lead  you  into  it  as  my  wife. 
Butheita,  may  I  now  kiss  you  ? " 

She  makes  no  answer,  but,  with  a  loud  cry,  throws  herself 
upon  his  breast,  and  kisses  him  passionately.  Mohammed  en- 
circles Butheita  with  his  arms,  and  bears  her  into  his  tent 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  citadel  presents  a  scene  of  great  animation  ;  its  apart- 
ments, especially  those  in  which  the  viceroy's  sons  are  to  re- 
side, are  richly  adorned  and  hung  with  flowers.  All  the 
doors  are  thrown  open,  and  a  number  of  richly-attired  female 
slaves  are  standing  in  the  hall  at  the  head  of  the  grand  stair- 
way which  is  covered  with  costly  carpets  from  Damascus. 

The  citadel  has  put  on  festive  attire  in  honor  of  the  wife 
and  sons  of  the  viceroy  Mohammed  Ali,  who  are  expected  to 
arrive  to-day. 

The  people  are  repairing  in  vast  numbers  to  Boulak  on  the 
shore  of  the  Nile,  where  the  viceroy  is  to  receive  his  family, 
and  it  is  whispered  among  them  that  she  who  has  resided  in 
the  palace  of  the  Esbekieh  is  not  his  first,  but  a  second  wife. 


454:  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

No  one  has  seen  her,  but  very  beautiful  she  must  be,  else  her 
husband  would  not  guard  her  so  closely.  No  one  has  seen 
her,  but  a  woman  certainly  dwells  there  in  the  harem  ;  its 
windows  are  lighted  up  at  night,  and  eunuchs  stand  guard 
outside  ;  veiled  slaves  have  also  been  seen  going  in  and  out  of 
the  palace.  Yes,  the  harem  has  an  occupant,  but  it  is  only  the 
second  wife  who  lives  there  ;  the  first  is  to  arrive  to-day  with 
her  sons  from  Alexandria  ! 

The  people  repair  in  vast  numbers  to  Boulak,  to  be  present 
at  the  reunion  of  the  family  of  their  viceroy,  who  has  already 
made  himself  beloved  by  his  subjects.  He  throws  money 
among  the  poor  when  he  drives  through  Cairo.  He  is  just, 
and  punishes  the  guilty  with  perfect  impartiality,  the  fellah 
and  courtier  alike. 

Mohammed,  accompanied  by  his  officers,  has  ridden  down 
to  Boulak,  where  two  landings  have  been  prepared,  and  richly 
adorned  with  carpets,  flowers,  and  overhanging  silken  awn- 
ings. Here,  at  the  landing  where  the  viceroy  and  his  generals 
are  waiting,  will  the  sons,  and  at  the  other,  where  the  women 
stand,  will  the  wife  arrive. 

The  viceroy,  erect  in  his  stirrups,  looks  down  the  river,  and 
he  is  the  first  to  discover  the  red  flags  that  appear  above  the 
horizon.  The  sight  of  the  father  is  keener  than  that  of  the  curi- 
ous. A  smile  lights  up  his  countenance,  and  he  turns  to  Has- 
san, who  stands  beside  him.  "They  are  coming,  Hassan  ; 
my  sons  are  coming  ! " 

"  Yes,  they  are  coming  !  The  princes  are  coming  ! "  cry 
the  people.  The  splendid  vessel  approaches  nearer  and 
nearer  ;  the  flags  flutter  gayly  in  the  sunshine  ;  and  now  Mo- 
hammed sees  the  three  figures,  standing  on  the  deck,  waving 
white  handkerchiefs  in  their  outstretched  hands.  These  are 
his  sons.  How  changed  the  three  boys  seem  to  the  father  ! 
These  are  no  longer  boys,  they  are  now  youths.  It  is,  how- 
ever, not  strange  that  they  have  altered  in  appearance  ;  great 
changes  take  place  in  five  years. 

The  vessel  lands,  and  his  sons  spring  quickly  to  the  shore. 
The  viceroy,  Mohammed  Ali,  had  determined  to  make  the 
meeting  a  theatrical  spectacle  for  the  people.  The  people  love 
such  spectacles,  and  they  were  to  be  permitted  to  look  into  the 


CONCLUSION.  455 

sanctuary  of  his  domestic  life  as  through  a  glass  door.  Such 
had  been  his  purpose.  But  at  the  moment,  all  this  is  forgot- 
ten, and  it  is  not  the  viceroy,  dismounting  in  a  stately  manner 
from  his  horse  to  receive  his  sons,  his  first  servants  ;  it  is  only 
the  father  who  springs  with  a  single  bound  from  his  saddle, 
encircles  his  three. sons  in  one  embrace,  presses  them  to  his 
heart,  and  kisses  them  tenderly. 

The  people  shout  with  delight,  "  Long  live  our  viceroy  and 
the  princes  !  "  The  guns  of  the  citadel  thunder  forth  a  greet- 
ing, and  announce  to  the  people  that  the  viceroy  no  longer 
rules  alone,  but  that  his  sons  now  rule  with  him.  The  welfare 
of  the  land  is  assured,  for  the  existence  of  the  ruling  house  is 
assured. 

The  young  princes  mount  the  horses  held  in  readiness 
for  them,  and  ride  into  the  city  beside  their  father.  The 
thunder  of  the  cannon  resounds  continuously,  shout  after 
shout  rends  the  air,  the  band  of  the  regiment  of  soldiers  that 
had  been  drawn  up  at  the  landing  to  receive  the  princes,  joins 
in  the  acclaim  with  merry  strains  of  music,  and  the  regiment 
falls  into  line,  and  marches  behind  the  viceroy  and  his  suite. 
Dense  masses  of  people,  Turks  and  Armenians,  Copts  and 
Jews,  Arabs  and  fellahs,  throng  the  streets  through  which 
they  pass.  On  the  imposing  procession  moves  toward  the 
citadel. 

At  the  same  time  a  splendid  debahieh  has  landed  at  the 
second  place  ;  it  is  the  wife  of  Mohammed  Ali,  who  stands  on 
the  deck.  No  soldiers,  and  in  fact  no  men,  await  her  on  the 
shore.  A  wide  space  about  the  landing  is  kept  free  by  the 
eunuchs,  who  drive  the  curious  back  with  threatening  ges- 
tures. Hundreds  of  women  stand  on  either  side  of  the  land- 
ing-place in  long  rows,  their  heads  enveloped  in  long  white 
veils  that  fall  down  over  the  splendid  dresses  glittering  with 
silver  embroidery. 

Mohammed  has  commanded  that  all  the  women  of  Cairo 
should  go  down  to  Boulak  to  meet  his  wife  Ada,  and  obey  they 
must,  they  well  know,  for  he  is  certain  to  punish  disobedience 
to  his  commands.  They  were  also  to  tender  her  presents  upon 
their  arrival  at  the  palace. 

She  stands  on  the  deck,  gazing  around  with  indifference  at 


456  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

the  spectacle  before  her.  She  is  looking  for  him  only — for 
her  husband.  But  he  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  does  not  re- 
ceive her.  It  would  probably  not  become  the  great  ruler  to 
welcome  his  wife  before  the  world.  No  one  must  perceive 
that  the  viceroy  is  also  a  husband,  a  man  ! 

Yes,  she  has  already  heard  of  this  :  the  heart  must  not  be 
laid  bare  to  the  world,  for  the  world  ridicules  it. 

This  is  why  Mohammed  is  not  there.  She  draws  her  veil 
more  closely  about  her,  and,  conducted  by  the  eunuchs,  de- 
scends slowly  the  stairway,  strewed  with  flowers,  to  the  land- 
ing-place, where  the  women  press  forward  to  greet  her. 

u  Welcome,  Sitta  Ada  !  Blessed  be  your  coming  !  Allah's 
blessings  upon  you,  Sitta  Ada  ! " 

Hundreds  of  voices  repeat  the  words.  She  is  glad  to  escape 
these  noisy  greetings  by  entering  the  gilded  coach  that  now 
drives  up  to  the  landing-place.  The  equipage  moves  on  slow- 
ly, followed  by  the  procession  of  women  who  are  to  accom- 
pany her  to  the  citadel. 

It  is  well  that  the  curtains  are  drawn  over  the  windows  of 
the  carriage,  and  that  no  one  can  see  the  tears  that  burst 
from  Sitta  Ada's  eyes,  or  hear  the  sighs  that  escape  her 
breast. 

u  Oh  that  I  had  remained  in  Cavalla  !  This  cold  splendor 
alarms  me  !  Would  that  Mohammed  had  received  me  quietly, 
pressed  me  to  his  heart  and  said,  '  Welcome,  Ada — welcome  to 
my  heart  and  home  !  " 

Is  she  welcome  ?  He  rejoices  in  his  sons,  now  growing  up 
to  manhood,  and  soon  to  accompany  him  to  battle  and  become 
heroes.  In  his  joy  over  his  sons,  he  has  forgotten  the  wife 
who  is  now  approaching  the  citadel  with  her  brilliant  suite. 
He  is  first  reminded  of  her  presence  by  the  thunder  of  the 
guns  that  announce  her  arrival  at  the  citadel.  The  reception 
must,  however,  be  completed.  He  has  arranged  every  thing 
with  the  master  of  ceremonies,  who  is  to  conduct  his  queen 
into  the  grand  audience-chamber  to  the  throne  that  stands  on 
a  scaffold  under  a  purple  canopy. 

Ada's  heart  trembles  as  she  approaches  it,  and  her  thoughts 
are  with  the  house  in  Cavalla.  Oh  that  Mohammed  Ali  had 
returned  to  live  with  her  there  !  "  Departed  are  all  the  sweets 


.  CONCLUSION.  457 

of  domestic  happiness  for  poor  Ada  !  "  a  voice  whispers  in  her 
heart. 

The  women  now  come  forward,  four  at  a  time,  and  with 
loud  congratulations  lay  the  presents  at  her  feet,  the  golden 
dishes,  the  jewelled  buckles,  the  gold-inworked  cloths,  and 
every  thing  that  delights  the  heart  of  woman.  With  kindly 
words  Ada  thanks  them  for  their  gifts,  hardly  realizing  what 
they  are.  She  thanks  Allah  when  the  affair  is  concluded,  and 
the  master  of  ceremonies  approaches,  and  with  a  deferential 
bearing  requests  her  to  descend  from  the  throne,  and  walk  to 
the  door  that  leads  to  the  inner  apartments.  It  alarms  her  to 
walk  between  the  long  rows  of  women  who  bow  low  as  she 
passes.  But  behind  the  door  are  the  private  apartments,  and 
there  she  will  be  alone.  This  thought  cheers  her  as  she  walks 
on  unconscious  that  a  number  of  female  slaves  are  following 
her  to  the  private  apartments.  Those  who  fill  such  exalted 
stations  as  that  of  the  wife  of  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt,  know  no 
solitude,  not  even  in  their  private  apartments.  The  slaves 
now  gather  around  her,  fall  on  their  knees,  and  swear  to  serve 
her  faithfully,  and  her  first  maid  asks  if  her  gracious  mistress 
will  now  retire  to  the  toilet-chamber  to  change  her  dress.  She 
dares  not  refuse,  and  allows  herself  to  be  conducted  thither, 
where  the  most  splendid  garments  lie  in  readiness  for  her. 
She  makes  no  selection,  but  permits  her  women  to  dress  her  as 
they  think  proper.  This  is  at  last  concluded,  and  one  of  them 
now  announces  that  she  may  enter  the  private  apartments, 
where  his  highness  the  viceroy  is  to  receive  her. 

Her  heart  throbs  wildly,  like  the  heart  of  a  young  girl,  as 
she  enters  the  apartment.  At  the  entrance  she  stands  still, 
timidly.  Alas  !  he  is  not  yet  there — the  room  is  empty.  The 
viceroy  makes  no  haste  to  greet  his  wife. 

The  door  now  opens,  and  Mohammed  AH  enters. 

Ah!  she  would  hardly  have  recognized  him  ;  to  her  he 
seems  quite  changed.  His  countenance  is  so  radiant,  his  bear- 
ing so  proud,  so  splendid  his  gold-embroidered  uniform,  so 
gracious  the  smile  with  which  he  advances  to  meet  her,  so 
gracious  the  manner  in  which  he  extends  his  hand  and  smiles 
on  her. — Ada  is  conscious  that  it  is  the  viceroy,  the  good  friend^ 
who  stands  before  her  ;  but  the  husband  it  is  not. 
30 


458  MOHAMMED  ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  Welcome,  dear  Ada ! "  lie  says,  in  kindly  tones.  Ah !  she 
is  familiar  with  these  loveless  tones.  '•  Welcome,  dear  Ada; 
I  rejoice  heartily  to  see  you  again  after  this  long  separa- 
tion." 

She  takes  his  hand,  presses  it  in  her  own,  and  looks  at  him 
earnestly. 

"Yes,  after  so  long  a  separation ;  do  you  know  how 
long  we  have  been  separated  ?  Do  you  feel  it  in  your 
heart  ? " 

"  I  well  know  how  long,  Ada.  We  have  heen  separated 
five  years,"  he  replies,  with  a  kindly  smile.  "  You  see  five 
years  have  effected  great  changes." 

"Yes,"  murmurs  she,  releasing  his  hand.  "They  have 
brought  about  great  changes.  I  see  it,  Mohammed." 

"  But,  dear  Ada,  my  heart  and  my  affection  for  you  are  un- 
changed," he  says,  gently.  "  I  shall  ever  honor  you,  Ada,  as 
my  first  wife,  as  the  mother  of  my  first-born  sons.  Yes,  as 
my  first  wife." 

She  bows  her  head.  She  understands  the  tone  with  which 
Mohammed  had  pronounced  that  fearful  word.  Yes,  she 
understands  it,  and  bows  her  head  in  humility.  And  what 
would  opposition  avail  her  ?  The  law  of  the  prophet  allows 
the  man  to  have  several  wives.  Love  is  fleeting,  and  its  ardor 
soon  passes  away  after  marriage.  Friendship  is  the  successor 
of  love,  and  men  say  this  is  happiness. 

The  women  sigh,  and  bow  their  heads  in  silence. 

What  would  it  avail  Ada  to  rise  in  arms  against  Moham- 
med's words,  "  My  first  wife  "  ? 

"Yes.  Ada,  you  will  ever  remain  my  first  wife,  the 
honored  mother  of  my  sons.  You  will  ever  remain  my 
friend." 

Yes,  that  was  the  word.  She  closes  her  ej'es  and  shud- 
ders. 

"  'Tis  well.  Your  friend,  Mohammed !  I  will  not,  how- 
ever, honor  you  as  my  friend,  but  as  my  lord,  and  as  the  man 
I  have  loved  alone  and  best  on  earth  !  " 

He  gently  encircles  her  neck  with  his  arm,  and  impresses 
a  kiss  on  her  forehead.  Such  a  kiss  as  makes  the  heart  of  the 
woman  who  loves  writhe  in  anguish. 


CONCLUSION.  459 

Now  he  begins  to  speak  to  her,  in  gay  tones,  of  his  hand- 
some, manly  sons. 

"  They  shall  come  to  greet  their  mother  ;  they  are  waiting 
in  the  next  room." 

He  walks  hastily  to  the  door,  opens  it,  and  the  three  boys 
enter,  each  holding  a  small  package  wrapped  in  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"  What  do  you  bring  me,  boys  ? "  asks  Mohammed,  seating 
himself  on  a  divan,  and  calling  them  to  his  side. 

"  What  do  we  bring  you,  father  ? "  says  the  eldest,  Ibrahim. 
uWe  have  brought  you  keepsakes  from  Cavalla,  and  with 
them  we  wish  to  show  you  that  we  have  learned  something, 
and  have  endeavored  to  imitate  you.  The  merchant,  Lion, 
has  often  told  me  how  daring  a  boatman  you  were,  and  I 
determined  to  learn  to  manage  a  boat  and  defy  the  treacher- 
ous waves,  also." 

The  viceroy  regards  his  son  with  a  radiant  smile.  The 
boy's  sparkling  eyes  gladden  his  heart  and  inspires  it  with 
high  hopes. 

"  I  rejoice  in  you,  Ibrahim,  and  expect  you  to  become  a 
hero,'1  cries  Mohammed.  u  Continue.  You  were  resolved  to 
defy  the  waves — 

"  Yes,  father,  and  I  did  learn  to  make  the  waves  obey  me, 
and  I  became  the  best  boatman  in'Praousta.  I  also  learned 
to  dive,  and  no  diver  could  surpass  me.  To  prove  what  I  say, 
I  have  brought  you  this  keepsake.  I  brought  it  up  from  the 
depths  of  the  sea ;  it  was  tied  up  in  a  bag.  I  dragged  it  to  the 
shore  and  opened  it.  And  what  do  you  suppose  it  contained, 
father  ?  Only  think,  a  skeleton !  As  these  were  the  first 
things  I  had  taken  out  of  the  deep  as  a  diver  I  have  brought 
you  something  out  of  the  bag  as  a  keepsake.  Here  it  is,  I — 
lay  it  at  your  feet." 

"  From  the  depths  of  the  sea  ?  *'  repeated  the  viceroy,  with 
pallid  cheeks.  "  Tell  me,  Ibrahim,  were  you  diving  off  the 
shore  of  Praousta  ? " 

"  Yes,  father.  You  know  the  shore  is  steep,  and  the  sea 
deep,  close  in  to  the  beach.  There  I  dived  and  found  the  bag, 
with  which  I  swam  to  the  shore.  The  bag  contained  bones, 
and  also  that  which  I  have  brought  you." 


460  MOHAMMED   ALI  AND  HIS  HOUSE. 

"  A  bag  that  contained  a  skeleton  ? "  repeated  Mohammed, 
with  quivering  lips.  "  And  what  is  it  you  have  brought  me  ? " 

"  A  tress  of  hair — a  tress  of  long,  black  hair.  It  must  have 
been  a  woman  that  was  cast  into  the  sea  in  the  bag." 

Mohammed  does  not  take  the  package  from  his  son's  hand, 
and  Ibrahim  lays  it  at  his  feet  and  looks  at  him  with  astonish- 
ment. He  is  completely  changed  ;  his  cheeks  are  pallid  and 
his  eyes  dim.  Ada  also  observes  this  change  with  dismay, 
and  calls  her  sons  to  her  side.  Aroused  by  her  voice,  Mo- 
hammed awakens  from  his  stupor,  and  waves  his  hand  as  if 
to  ward  off  some  spectre. 

"And  what  have  you  brought  me,  Ismail  ? — and  you, 
Toussoun  ? " 

"We  have  also  brought  you  keepsakes  from  Cavalla,"  they 
reply.  "  We  endeavored  to  make  of  ourselves  what  you  were 
when  a  boy.  We  were  told  that  you  had  been  a  famous 
climber,  that  no  rock  was  too  high,  and  the  entrance  to  no 
cave  too  narrow,  for  you.  And  we  discovered  a  large  cave 
down  by  the  shore,  near  Praousta.  It  was  necessary  to  creep 
through  a  long,  narrow  passage  to  get  into  it,  and  what  do 
you  think  we  found  there  ?  It  seemed  as  if  people  had  lived 
there — there  were  cushions  and  all  sorts  of  things  scattered 
around  on  the  floor.  Oh,  we  often  enjoyed  ourselves  in  the 
cave,  singing  songs,  and  eating  fruit  we  had  taken  there  with 
us.  However,  when  we  visited  the  cave  for  the  last  time,  we 
determined,  each  of  us,  to  bring  you  a  keepsake  from  it,  and 
here  are  the  things  we  have  brought.  I  bring  you  a  beauti- 
ful little  cup  I  found  there." 

"  And  I  bring  you  a  piece  of  cloth— a  beautiful  gold-em- 
broidered cuffei  which  I  found  in  the  cave.  It  is  very  hand- 
some, only  there  are  a  few  spots,  as  though  blood  had  dropped 
on  it," 

And,  like  Ibrahim,  the  two  boys  also  lay  the  packages  they 
had  brought  at  their  father's  feet.  He  sits  there  for  a 
moment  as  motionless  and  pale  as  a  marble  statue,  and  then 
motions  with  his  hand  toward  the  door.  He  cannot  speak,  he 
only  motions  to  them  to  leave  the  room,  and  the  boys  hasten 
to  their  mother's  side  in  alarm.  Ada  takes  them  by  the  hand 
and  leaves  the  room  with  them. 


CONCLUSION. 

Mohammed  is  now  alone  with  his  sons'  offerings. 

He  stares  down  at  them  for  a  while,  and  then  takes  up  the 
package  Ibrahim  had  laid  at  his  feet. 

He  tears  it  open,  and  there  lies  Masa's  long,  black  hair.  A 
cry  escapes  his  lips !  It  is  not  the  viceroy,  not  the  man,  who 
cries  out.  It  is  the  death-cry  of  his  first  love ! 

He  presses  the  hair  to  his  lips,  and  two  tears  trickle  slowly 
down  his  cheeks.  His  gaze  fastens  on  his  Masa's  hair  in  a 
long,  painful  glance. 

He  had  often  kissed  these  tresses  while  they  clung  to  her 
beloved  head.  He  now  kisses  them  for  the  last  time,  and  then 
conceals  them  in  his  bosom. 

He  bends  down  again  and  takes  up  the  presents  of  his 
other  sons. 

He  remembers  the  cup  well.  Masa  had  often  drunk  out 
of  it. 

He  kisses  the  rim  of  the  cup,  the  place  where  Masa's  crimson 
lips  had  touched  ;  he  then  carefully  places  it  on  the  cushion  be- 
side him. 

He  now  takes  up  the  third  present— the  gold-embroidered 
cuffei  he  had  purchased  for  Masa  from  the  merchant,  Lion. 

She  wore  it  around  her  neck  for  the  last  time  when  he 
pressed  her  to  his  heart  and  took  leave  of  her  for  a  short  time, 
as  he  thought.  She  wore  it  when  he  left  her  that  night,  and 
when  he  returned  she  was  gone,  and  he  did  not  see  her  again 
until  her  death-hour. 

He  holds  the  cloth  up  before  him,  and  sees  the  dark-red 
spots— her  blood !  She  had  struggled  with  her  captor,  and  he 
had  injured  her  shoulder,  where  the  cloth  rested,  with  the 
point  of  his  dagger !  He  can  tell  this  by  the  incision  in  the 
cloth  where  the  spots  of  blood  are. 

This  is  Masa's  blood,  shed  for  him  !  He  kisses  the  spot, 
and  binds  the  cloth  around  his  neck — the  cloth  she  has  worn, 
the  cloth  inscribed  with  her  blood  !  A  holy  remembrance  of 
her,  he  will  never  part  with  it.  It  shall  protect  him  from  the 
rude  wind  of  the  world. 

He  lays  his  hand  on  Masa's  tresses  again  ;  he  looks  at  the 
cup,  and  sits  there  motionless,  absorbed  in  thought,  for  a  long 
time. 


462  MOHAMMED   ALI   AND   HIS   HOUSE. 

His  whole  past  rises  up  before  him.  He  is  once  more  at 
home,  on  the  rude  rock  where  he  spent  his  youth. 

He  sees  every  thing  once  more  ;  sees,  also,  the  pale  face  of 
his  Osman,  of  his  dear  friend. 

He  is  dead — his  sons  have  told  him  that  Osman  is  dead. 

<l  It  is  well  for  him  that  he  is,  he  suffered  much,"  he  mur- 
murs, in  low  tones.  u  I,  also,  have  suffered  much.  And  yet  I 
have  also  experienced  much  happiness,  and  shall  probably  do 
so  in  the  future,  also,''  he  continues,  in  louder  tones.  "  Sink 
down  behind  me,  past  !  the  future  is  mine.  And  now  be 
strong,  Mohammed  ;  arise  and  be  a  man  !  The  past  is  at  an 
end  !  Masa,  you  have  to-day  sent  me  a  greeting  through  my 
sons.  Farewell  !  Now  I  belong  to  the  present  and  to  the 
future.  Farewell  !" 

He  rises,  walks  with  firm  footstep  through  the  apartment, 
and  enters  the  room  where  Ada  and  his  sons  arc  awaiting 
him. 

"Come,  my  sons,  I  will  show  you  my  capital,  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  cities— I  will  show  you  Cairo.  Come  !  " 

He  takes  his  sons  by  the  band,  and.  alas  !  he  forgets  the 
poor  woman  who  is  regarding  him  tenderly,  and  down  whose 
cheeks  two  tears  slowly  trickle  as  the  door  closes  behind  him. 

Mohammed  leads  his  sons  through  the  long  suite  of  splen- 
did apartments,  which  they  regard  with  wonder,  into  the  grand 
reception-chamber,  and  steps  out  with  them  upon  the  balcony. 
The  beautiful  city  of  Cairo  now  lies  spread  out  before  them. 
Over  there  glitters  the  Nile,  like  a  silver  ribbon,  and  beyond 
tower  aloft  the  wondrous  forms  of  the  great  Pyramids  of 
Gheezeh. 

A  cry  of  delight  escapes  the  lips  of  the  boys.  u  Oh,  how 
beautiful,  how  glorious,  father  ! " 

"  Yes,  beautiful  is  Cairo  ;  beautiful  is  Egypt,  my  sons.  All 
that  you  see  spread  out  before  you  is  mine.  I  am  the  ruler  of 
Egypt ;  you  shall  be  its  rulers  after  me,  and  our  house  shall 
become  great  and  glorious.  This  I  swear,  by  Allah  !  I  will 
not,  like  my  predecessors,  be  deposed  from  my  throne  and  de- 
scend the  hill  on  which  stands  the  proud  citadel  of  Cairo.  I 
swear,  by  Allah,  that  my  house  shall  continue  to  rule  over 
Egypt,  and  it  shall  be  inscribed  in  the  books  of  history  :  '  Mo- 


CONCLUSION.  463 

hammed  All  was  the  first  free  viceroy  of  Egypt,  and  his  sons 
succeeded  him  on  the  throne.'  Swear  to  me,  my  sons,  that 
you  will  one  day  become  good  and  just  rulers  over  Egypt  ! " 

"  We  swear  that  we  will,  father  !  We  will  one  day  become 
good  and  just  rulers  over  Egypt  ! "  the  three  boys  reply,  as 
with  one  voice,  their  eyes  sparkling,  their  countenances  radiant 
with  the  light  of  high  resolve. 

"  You  have  heard  it,  Allah  !"  cries  the  father,  in  solemn 
tones,  his  head  bowed  down,  his  right  hand  uplifted.  "  I  will 
firmly  establish  the  rule  of  my  house,  and  my  sons  have  sworn 
to  become  good  and  just  rulers.  Then  be  thou,  also,  our  gra- 
cious ruler,  and  with  thy  great  prophet,  Mohammed,  look  down 
with  favor  upon  the  four  human  beings  who  stand  humbly  in 
thy  presence  !  Not  the  vassal  of  the  grand-sultan  at  Stamboul, 
but  the  free,  independent  viceroy,  will  I  be,  and  after  me  shall 
my  sons  rule — this  I  swear  !  Seal  thou  my  resolve  with  thy 
blessing,  O  Allah  ! " 


THE  END. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


L 


TWO    SUCCESSFUL   AMERICAN    NOVELS. 

ATITUDE  19°.  A  Romance  of  the  West  Indies  in 
the  Year  of  our  Lord  1820.  Being  a  faithful  account  and  true, 
of  the  painful  adventures  of  the  Skipper,  the  Bo's'n,  the  Smith, 
the  Mate,  and  Cynthia.  By  Mrs.  SCHUYLER  CROWNINSHIELD. 
Illustrated,  ismo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  Latitude  19°  '  is  a  novel  of  incident,  of  the  open  air,  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the 
mountain  eyrie,  and  of  breathing,  living  entities,  who  deal  with  Natuie  at  first  hand.  .  .  . 
The  adventures  described  are  peculiarly  novel  and  interesting.  .  .  .  Packed  with 
incidents,  infused  with  humor  and  wit,  and  faithful  to  the  types  introduced,  this  book 
will  surely  appeal  to  the  large  audience  already  won,  and  beget  new  friends  among; 
those  who  believe  in  fiction  that  is  healthy  without  being  maudlin,  and  is  strong  with- 
out losing  the  truth." — New  York  Herald. 

"  A  story  filled  with  rapid  and  exciting  action  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  A 
fecundity  of  invention  that  never,  lags,  and  a  judiciously  used  vein  of  humor." — The 
Critic, 

"  A  volume  of  deep,  undeniable  charm.  A  unique  book  from  a  fresh,  sure,  vigorous 
pen." — Boston  "Journal. 

"  Adventurous  and  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  exacting  reader.  .  .  . 
Abounds  in  situations  which  make  the  blood  run  cold,  and  yet,  full  of  surprises  as  it  is, 
one  is  continually  amazed  by  the  plausibility  of  the  main  incidents  of  the  narrative. 
...  A  very  successful  effort  to  poriray  the  sort  of  adventures  that  might  have  taken 
place  in  the  West  Indies  seventy  five  or  eighty  years  ago.  .  .  .  Very  entertaining  witn 
its  dry  humor." — Boston  Herald. 


A 


HERALD  OF  THE  WEST.  An  American 
Story  of  1811-1815.  By  J.  A.  AI.TSHELER,  author  of  "A 
Soldier  of  Manhattan  "  and  "  The  Sun  of  Saratoga."  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  A  Herald  of  the  West '  is  a  romance  of  our  history  which  has  not  been  surpassed 
in  dramatic  force,  vivid  coloring,  and  historical  interest.  ...  In  these  days  when  the 
flush  of  war  has  only  just  passed,  the  book  ought  to  find  thousands  of  readers,  for  it 
teaches  patriotism  without  intolerance,  and  it  shows,  what  the  war  with  Spain  has 
demonstrated  anew,  the  power  of  the  American  neople  when  they  are  deeply  roused  by 
some  great  wrong." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  The  book  throughout  is  extremely  well  written.  It  is  condensed,  vivid,  pictu- 
resque. ...  A  rattling  good  story,  and  unrivaled  in  fiction  for  its  presentation  of  the 
American  feeling  toward  England  during  our  second  conflict." — Boston  Herald. 

"Holds  the  attention  continuously.  .  .  .  The  book  abounds  in  thrilling  attractions. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  solid  and  dignified  acquisition  to  the  romantic  literature  of  our  own  coun- 
try, built  around  facts  and  real  persons." — Chicago  Times- Herald. 

"  In  a  style  that  is  strong  and  broad,  the  author  of  this  timely  novel  takes  up  a 
nascent  period  of  our  national  history  and  founds  upon  it  a  story  of  absorbing  interest." 
—Philadelphia  Item. 

"Mr.  Altsheler  has  given  us  an  accurate  as  well  as  picturesque  portrayal  of  the 
social  and  political  conditions  which  prevailed  in  the  republic  in  the  era  made  famous 
by  the  second  war  with  Great  Britain." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


D 


"A   BOOK   THAT   WILL  LIVE." 

AVID  HARUM.     A  Story  of  American  Life.     By 
EDWARD  NOYES  WESTCOTT.     i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mr.  Westcott  has  done  for  central  New  York  what  Mr.  Cable,  Mr.  Page,  and 
Mr  Harris  have  done  for  different  parts  of  the  South,  and  what  Miss  Jewett  and  Miss 
Wilkins  are  doing  for  New  England,  and  Mr.  Hainlin  Garland  for  the  West.  .  .  . 
'David  Harum'  is  a  masterly  delineation  of  an  American  type.  .  .  .  Here  is  life  with 
all  its  joys  and  sorrows.  .  .  .  David  Harum  lives  in  these  pages  as  he  will  live  in  the 
mind  of  the  reader.  .  .  .  He  deserves  to  be  known  by  all  good  Americans ;  lie  is  one 
of  them  in  boundless  energy,  in  large-heartedness,  in  shrewdness,  and  in  humor." — 
The  Critic. 

"  Thoroughly  a  pure,  original,  and  fresh  American  type.  David  Harum  is  a 
character  whose  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  eccentricities,  and  dry  humor  will  win  for 
his  creator  notable  distinction.  Buoyancy,  life,  and  cheerfulness  are  dominant  notes. 
In  its  vividness  and  force  the  story  is  a  strong,  fresh  picture  of  American  life.  Original 
and  true,  it  is  worth  the  same  distinction  which  is  accorded  the  genre  pictures  of 
peculiar  types  and  places  sketched  by  Mr.  George  W.  Cable,  Mr.  Joel  Chandler 
Harris,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson  Page,  Miss  Wilkins,  Miss  Jewett,  Mr.  Garland,  Miss 
French,  Miss  Murfree,  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker,  Mr.  Owen  Wister,  and  Bret  Harte.  .  .  . 
A  pretty  love  story  also  adds  to  the  attractiveness  of  the  book,  that  will  be  appreciated 
at  once  by  every  one  who  enjoys  real  humor,  strong  character,  true  pictures  of  life,  and 
work  that  is  '  racy  of  the  soil.'  " — Boston  Herald. 

"  Mr.  Westcott  has  created  a  new  and  interesting  type.  .  .  .  The  character  sketch- 
ing and  building,  so  far  as  David  Harum  is  concerned,  is  well-nigh  perfect.  The  book 
is  wonderfully  bright,  readable,  and  graphic. "— TWw  York  Times. 

"The  main  character  ought  to  become  familiar  to  thousands  of  readers,  and  will 
probably  take  his  place  in  time  beside  Joel  Chandler  Harris's  and  Thomas  Nelson 
Page's  and  Miss  Wilkins's  creations." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"We  give  Edward  Noyes  Westcott  his  true  place  in  American  letters— placing 
him  as  a  humorist  next  to  Mark  Twain,  as  a  master  of  dialect  above  Lowell,  as  a 
descriptive  writer  equal  to  Eret  Harte,  and,  on  the  whole,  as  a  novelist  on  a  par  with 
the  best  of  those  who  live  and  have  their  being  in  the  heart  of  hearts  of  American 
readers.  If  the  author  is  dead — lamentable  fact — his  book  will  live." — Philadelphia 
Item. 

"  True,  strong,  and  thoroughly  alive,  with  a  humor  like  that  of  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  a  nature  as  sweet  at  the  core.  The  spirit  of  the  book  is  genial  and  wholesome,  and 
the  love  story  is  in  keeping  with  it.  ...  The  book  adds  one  more  to  the  interesting 
list  of  native  fiction  destined  to  live,  portraying  certain  localities  and  types  of  American 
life  and  manners." — Boston  Literary  World. 

"  A  notable  contribution  to  those  sectional  studies  of  American  life  by  which  our 
literature  has  been  so  greatly  ennched  in  the  past  generation.  ...  A  work  of  unusual 
merit." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  One  of  the  few  distinct  and  living  types  in  the  American  gallery." — St.  Louis 
Globe-  Democrat, 

"  The  quaint  character  of 'David  Harum '  proves  to  be  an  inexhaustible  source  of 
amusement. — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  say  wherein  the  author  could  have  bettered  the  portrait  he 
sets  before  us." — Providence  Journal. 

"  Full  of  wit  and  sweetness." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  Merits  the  heartiest  and  most  unequivocal  praise.  ...  It  is  a  pleasure  to  call  the 
reader's  attention  to  this  strong  and  most  original  novel,  a  novel  that  is  a  decided  and 
most  enduring  addition  to  American  literature." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


D.   APPLETON    AND    COMPANY,   NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

A  PICTORIAL  HISTORY  OF  THE  WAR  WITH  SPAIN. 

SHANNON  AND  CAMERA.  Sea  and  Land  Battles 
^*'  of  the  Spanish-American  War  in  Cuba,  Camp  Life,  and  Return 
of  the  Soldiers.  Described  and  illustrated  by  J.  C.  HEMMENT, 
War  Artist  at  the  Front.  With  over  one  hundred  full-page 
pictures  taken  by  the  author,  and  an  Index.  Large  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $2.00. 

"  The  most  interesting  book  about  the  war  so  far  is  '  Cannon  and  Camera.'  It  is 
also  the  best,  considered  purely  as  a  narrative.  Mr.  Hemment  was  at  the  right  places 
at  the  right  times.  .  .  .  No  series  of  pictures  as  good  as  this  on  the  scenes  and  events 
of  the  war  has  been  made  by  any  other  man." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Clever  and  picturesque.  .  .  .  Over  one  hundred  capital  instantaneous  photographs 
illustrate  Mr.  Hemment's  well-written  record,  and  not  the  least  of  the  book's  recom- 
mendations is  the  outspoken  simplicity  of  its  style  and  the  strong  impression  it  makes 
upon  the  reader  of  being  the  uninfluenced  evidence  of  an  eye-witness  who  '  draws  the 
thing  as  he  sees  it,'  and  without  exaggeration  or  prejudice." — Sunday-School  7  ime s. 

"  Will  have  a  permanent  value  and  a  popularity  which  doubtless  the  more  technical 
books  will  lack." — Army  and  Navy  Register. 

"  Accurate  as  well  as  picturesque.  .  .  .  Mr.  Hemment  has  done  his  work  well.  In 
point  of  faithful  realism  there  has  thus  far  been  nothing  better  in  the  whole  war  litera- 
ture."— Boston  Journal. 

"The  pictures  comprise  the  best  set  of  war  views  that  we  have  seen." — Philadelphia 
Inquirer. 

"  He  is  able  to  give  us  consecutive  pictures  of  the  war,  possessing  the  great  value 
of  viewing  it  from  beginning  to  end."  —  Lialtimore  Sun. 

"  It  is  a  history  of  the  war  that  will  become  more  valuable  as  time  passes,  for  it  is, 
in  its  pictures,  an  unimpeachable  record  of  events." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

DECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  CIVIL   WAR.      By 
-*  »-     CHARLES  A.  DANA.     With  Portrait.     Large  I2mo.     Cloth,  gilt 
top,  uncut,  $2.00. 

"  Out  of  his  rich  material  Mr.  Dana  has  woven  a  marvelous  narrative.  .  .  . 
Written,  as  the  book  is,  in  Mr.  Dana's  inimitable  English,  it  is  worthy  to  rank  with  the 
autobiography  of  Grant  in  the  list  of  the  really  great  works  which  will  bear  down  to 
posterity  the  true  story  of  the  great  wat  for  freedom  and  for  the  Union." — Boston 
Journal. 

"  It  is  a  book  filled  with  vitality  and  warm  with  strong  life.  It  tells  history  in  the 
strongest  and  most  impressive  manner,  and  the  personality  of  the  writer  gives  it  an  ad- 
ditional interest.  It  is  one  of  the  valuable  books  of  the  year.  .  .  .  It  is  sincere  even  in 
its  prejudices;  the  most  original  and  enduring  work  of  a  strong  thinker.  The  book  is 
a  most  important  contribution  to  the  history  of  the  civil  war;  it  is  readable  from  first 
page  to  last,  and  its  vitality  will  outlast  that  of  more  elaborate  works  on  the  same  sub- 
ject."— Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  book  will  rank  among  the  trustworthy  sources  of  knowledge  of  the  civil 
war." — New  York  Evening  Post. 

"As  interesting  as  a  novel." — Buffalo  Commercial. 

"The  book  is  one  of  absorbing  interest."— Providence  Journal. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE   STORY  OF  THE  WEST  SERIES. 
EDITED   BY   RIPLEY   HITCHCOCK. 

Each,  illustrated,   ismo,  cloth,  $1.50. 


STORY    OF    THE    RAILROAD.     By    CY 

WARMAN,  author  of  "  The  Express  Messenger,"  etc.  With 
Maps,  and  many  Illustrations  by  B.  West  Clinedinst  and 
from  photographs. 

"  As  we  understand  it,  the  editor's  ruling  idea  in  this  series  has  not  been  to  present 
chronology  or  statistics  or  set  essays  on  the  social  and  political  development  of  the 
great  West,  but  to  give  to  us  vivid  pictures  of  the  life  and  the  times  in  the  period  of 
great  development,  and  to  let  us  see  the  men  at  their  work,  their  characters,  and  their 
motives.  The  choice  of  an  author  has  been  fortunate.  In  Mr.  Warman's  book  we  are 
kept  constantly  reminded  of  the  fortitude,  the  suffering,  the  enterprise,  and  the  endur- 
ance of  the  pioneers.  We  see  the  glowing  imagination  of  the  promoter,  and  we  see  the 
engineer  scouting  the  plains  and  the  mountains,  fighting  the  Indians,  freezing  and 
starving,  and  always  full  of  a  keen  enthusiasm  for  his  work  and  of  noble  devotion  to 
his  duty.  The  construction  train  and  the  Irish  boss  are  not  forgotten,  and  in  the  stories 
of  their  doings  we  find  not  only  courage  and  adventure,  but  wit  and  humor." — The 
Railroad  Gazette. 


T 


S  TOR  Y  OF  THE  CO  WBO  Y.     By  E.  HOUGH, 

author  of  "  The  Singing   Mouse  Stories,"  etc.     Illustrated  by 
William  L.  Wells  and  C.  M.  Russell. 

"  Mr.  Hough  is  to  be  thanked  for  having  written  so  excellent  a  book.  The  cowboy 
story,  as  this  author  has  told  it,  will  be  the  cowboy's  fitting  eulogy.  This  volume  will 
be  consulted  in  years  to  come  as  an  authority  on  past  conditions  of  the  far  West.  For 
fine  literary  work  the  author  is  to  be  highly  complimented.  Here,  certainly,  we  have 
a  choice  piece  of  writing."  —  New  York  Times. 


STORY  OF  THE  MINE.  As  illustrated  by 
the  Great  Comstock  Lode  of  Nevada.  By  CHARLES  HOWARD 
SHINN. 

"  Mr.  Shinn  writes  from  ample  personal  acquaintance  with  his  subject  —  such 
acquaintance  as  could  only  be  gained  by  familiarity  with  the  men  and  the  places 
described,  by  repeated  conversations  with  survivors  of  the  early  mining  adventures  in 
the  Sierras  and  the  Rockies,  and  by  the  fullest  appreciation  of  the  pervading  spirit  of 
the  Western  mining  camps  of  yesterday  and  to-day.  Thus  his  book  has  a  distinctly 
human  interest,  apart  from  its  value  as  a  treatise  on  things  material."  —  Review  of 
Reviews. 


STORY  OF  THE  INDIAN.  By  GEORGE 
BIRD  GRINNELL,  author  of  "  Pawnee  Hero  Stories,"  "  Black- 
foot  Lodge  Tales,"  etc. 

"  Only  an  author  qualified  by  personal  experience  could  offer  us  a  profitable  study 
of  a  race  so  alien  from  our  own  as  is  the  Indian  in  thought,  feeling,  and  culture.  Only 
long  association  with  Indians  can  enable  a  white  man  measurably  to  comprehend  ^  their 
thoughts  and  enter  into  their  feelings.  Such  association  has  been  Mr.  Grinnell's."  — 
New  York  Sun. 

D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY.  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

BY   ANTHONY   HOPE. 
HE   CHRONICLES   OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 

With  Photogravure  Frontispiece  by  S.  W.  Van  Schaick.     I2moc 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  all  those  whose  pulses  still  stir 
at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written."  —  Lon- 
don Daily  News, 

"  It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  .  .  . 
In  point  of  execution  'The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio'  is  the  best  work  that  Mr. 
Hope  has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style 
more  colored."  —  Westminster  Gazette. 

"A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  healthy  exaltation  of  the 
spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up."  —  The  Scotsman. 

"  A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  freshness  and  spirit."  —  London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  jomances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio'  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best."  —  New  York  World. 

"No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio. 
.  .  .  The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his 
readers  under  the  spell  of  his  magic."  —  Boston  Herald. 


GOD  IN  THE  CAR.  New  edition.  Uniform 
with  "  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio."  i2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.25. 

"  '  The  God  in  the  Car'  is  just  as  clever,  just  as  distinguished  in  style,  just  as  full 
of  wit,  and  of  what  nowadays  some  persons  like  better  than  wit  —  allusiveness—  as 
any  of  his  stories.  It  is  saturated  with  the  modern  atmosphere  ;  is  not  only  a  very 
clever  but  a  very  strong  story  ;  in  some  respects,  we  think,  the  strongest  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  written."  —  London  Speaker. 

"  A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible  within  our 
limit  ;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial  ;  well  considered,  but  not  elaborated  ;  constructed 
with  the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers  to 
whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleasure."  —  London  World. 

"The  book  is  a  brilliant  one.  .  .  .  'The  God  in  the  Car'  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable works  in  a  year  that  has  given  us  the  handiwork  of  nearly  all  our  best  living 
novelists."  —  London  Standard. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


SEVEN  SEAS.  A  new  volume  of  poems  by 
RUDYARD  KIPLING,  author  of  "  Many  Inventions,"  "  Barrack- 
Room  Ballads,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50  ;  half  calf,  $3.00  ; 
morocco,  $5.00. 

"  The  spirit  and  method  of  Kipling's  fresh  and  virile  song  have  taken  the  English 
reading  world.  .  .  .  When  we  turn  to  the  larger  portion  of  '  The  Seven  Seas,'  how 
imaginative  it  is,  how  impassioned,  how  superbly  rhythmic  and  sonorous.!  .  ,  .  The 
ring  and  diction  of  this  verse  add  new  elements  to  our  song.  .  .  .  The  true  laureate 
of  Greater  Britain."  —  E.  C.  Stedman,  in  the  Book  Buyer. 

"  The  most  original  poet  who  has  appeared  in  his  generation.  .  .  .  His  is  the  lusti- 
est voice  now  lifted  in  the  world,  the  clearest,  the  bravest,  with  the  fewest  false  notes 
in  it.  ...  I  do  not  see  why,  in  reading  his  book,  we  should  not  put  ourselves  in  the 
presence  of  a  great  poet  again,  and  consent  to  put  off  our  mourning  for  the  high  ones 
lately  dead."—  W.  D.  ffowela. 

"  'The  Seven  Seas'  is  the  most  remarkable  book  of  verse  that  Mr.  Kipling  has 
given  us.  Here  the  human  sympathy  is  broader  and  deeper,  the  patriotism  heartier 
and  fuller,  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  insight  keener,  the  command  of  the  literary 
vehicle  more  complete  and  sure,  than  in  any  previous  verse  work  by  the  author.  The 
volume  pulses  with  power—  power  often  rough  and  reckless  in  expression,  but  invariably 
conveying  the  effect  intended.  There  is  scarcely  a  line  which  does  not  testify  to  the 
strong  individuality  of  the  writer."  —  London  Globe. 

"Mr.  Kipling's  'The  Seven  Seas'  is  a  distinct  advance  up  en  his  characteristic 
lines.  The  surpassing  strength,  the  almost  violent  originality,  the  glorious  swish  and 
swing  of  his  lines  —  all  are  there  in  increased  measure.  .  .  .  The  book  is  a  marvel  of 
originality  and  genius—  a  brand-new  landmark  in  the  history  of  English  letters."  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

J\/TANY   INVENTIONS.     By  RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

**•*  Containing  Fourteen  Stories  and  Two  Poems.  I2mo,  427 
pages.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  Many  Inventions  '  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We  would  cite 
with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract  incidents  from  almost 
every  story.  But  to  what  end?  Here  is  the  completes!  book  that  Mr.  Kipling  has  yet 
given  us  in  workmanship,  the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view."— 
Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  Many  Inventions,'  and  to  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modem  fiction  has  to  offer."  —  New  York  Sun. 

"  '  Many  Inventions  '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
.  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  offeree."  —  Boston  Globe. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

GILBERT    PARKER'S    BEST   BOOKS. 
Uniform  Edition. 

*1THE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY.  Being  the 
Memoirs  of  Captain  ROBERT  MORAY,  sometime  an  Officer  in 
the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  afterwards  of  Amherst's  Regiment,, 
Illustrated,  $1.50. 

"Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of '  The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty  '  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.      Mr.  Parker's  latest  work  may 


"  Mr.  Gilbert  Parker  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the  excellence  of  his  latest  story, 
'  The  Seats  of  the  Mighty,'  and  his  readers  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  direction 
which  his  talents  have  taken  therein.  ...  It  is  so  good  that  we  do  not  stop  to  think  of 
its  literature,  and  the  personality  of  Doltaire  is  a  masterpiece  of  creative  art."  —  New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 


TRAIL    OF    THE    SWORD.      A    Novel. 

$1.25. 

"  Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a  refutation  already  wide,  and  anew  demonstrates  his 
power  of  pictorial  portrayal  and  of  strong  dramatic  situation  and  climax."  —  Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 

"The  tale  holds  the  reader's  interest  from  first  to  last,  for  it  is  full  of  fire  and  spirit, 
abounding  in  incident,  and  marked  by  good  character  drawing."—  Pictsburg  Times. 


T: 


"HE  TRESPASSER.     $1.25. 


'  Interest,  pith,  force,  and  charm — Mr.  Parker's  new  story  possesses  all  these 
qualities.  .  .  .  Almost  bare  of  synthetical  decoration,  his  paragraphs  are  stirring  be- 
cause they  are  real.  We  read  at  times  -as  we  have  read  the  great  masters  of  romance 
— breathlessly." — The  Critic. 

"  Gilbert  Parker  writes  a  strong  novel,  but  thus  far  this  is  his  masterpiece.  ...  It 
is  one  of  the  great  novels  of  the  year." — Bos  fan  Advertiser. 


T: 


"HE  TRANSLATION  OF  A  SAVAGE.     $1.25. 


'A  book  which  no  one  will  be  satisfied  to  put  down  until  the  end  has  been 
matter  of  certainty  and  assurance." — The  Nation. 

"A  story  of  remarkable  interest,  originality,  and   ingenuity  of  construction."— 
Boston  Home  Journal. 

A/fRS.  FALCHION.     $1.25. 

"A  well-knit  story,  told  in  an  exceedingly  interesting  way,  and  holding' tho 
~-*4er's  attention  to  the  end." 


D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY.  NEW  YORK. 


D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

BY  A.  CONAN   DOYLE, 

Uniform  edition,     tamo.     Cloth,  $i  jo  6ef  volume. 
f  TNCLE    BERN  AC.     A    Romance    <?/    the    Empire. 
*-/    Illustrated. 

"  '  Uncle  Bernac '  is  lor  a  truth  Dr.  Doyle's  Napojeon.  Viewed  as  a  picture  of  the 
little  man  in  the  gray  coat,  it  must  rank  before  anything  he  has  written.  The  fascina- 
tion of  it  is  extraordinary." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  From  the  opening  pages  the  clear  and  energetic  telling  of  the  story  never  falters 
and  our  attention  never  flags." — London  Observer. 

D  ODNE  Y  STONE.     Illustrated. 

"  A  remarkable  book,  worthy  of  the  pen  that  gave  us  '  The  White  Company,' 
•Micah  Clarke,'  and  other  notable  romances." — London  Daily  News. 

"  A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius." — London  Speaker. 

"  '  Rodney  Stone '  is,  in  our  judgment,  distinctly  the  best  of  Dr.  Conan  Doyle's 
novels.  .  .  .  There  are  few  descriptions  in  fiction  that  can  vie  with  that  race  upon  the 
Brighton  road." — London  Titnes. 


T 


HE  EXPLOITS  OF  BRIGADIER  GERARD. 

A  Romance  of  the^Life  of  a   Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier.     Illus- 
trated. 

"The  brigadier  is  brave,  resolute,  amorous,  loyal,  chivalrous;  never  was  a  foe  mor- 
ardent  in  battle,  more  clement  in  victory,  or  more  ready  at  need.  .  .  .  Gallantry,  humoi, 
martial  gayety,  moving  incident,  make  up  a  really  delightful  book." — London  Times. 

"  May  be  set  down  without  reservation  as  the  most  thoroughly  enjoyable  book  that 
Dr.  Doyle  has  ever  published." — Boston  Beacon. 


T 


HE  STARK  MUNRO  LETTERS.  Being  a 
Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  STARK  MUNRO,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough, 
of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881-1884.  Illus- 
trated. 

"  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him." — Richard  le  Gallienne,  in  the  London  Star. 

"  'The  Stark  Munro  Letters'  is  a  bit  of  real  literature.  ...  Its  reading  will  be  an 
epoch-making  event  in  many  a  life." — Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

7DOUND     THE    RED    LAMP.      Being  Facts  and 
*-  *•     Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"Too  much  can  not  be  said  in  praise  of  these  strong  productions,  that  to  read, 
ceep  one's  heart  leaping  to  the  throat,  and  the  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anticipation  to  the 
snd.  .  .  .  No  series  of  short  stories  in  modern  literature  can  approach  them." — Hart- 
ford Times. 

"If  Dr.  A.  'Conan  Doyle  had  hot  already  placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  living 
English  writers  by  '  The  Refugees,"  and  other  of  his  larger  stories,  he  would  surely  df 
»  by  these  fifteen  short  tales." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY.  NEW  YORK. 


18549 


DATE  DUE 


MAY 

1     '72 

ITIni 

UCii 

EC'D   APR 

5   1972 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  926  620     6 


